rs surrounded by
the gentlemen who presently herded round the piano?

It was nearly the moment when the young ones were bound to withdraw, when
Mervyn, coming hastily up to their ottoman, had almost stumbled over
Maria's foot.

'Beg pardon. Oh, it was only you! What a cow it is!' said he, tossing
over the papers.

'What are you looking for, Mervyn?' asked Phoebe.

'An advertisement--_Bell's Life_ for the 3rd. That rascal, Mears, must
have taken it.'

She found it for him, and likewise the advertisement, which he, missing
once, was giving up in despair.

'I say,' he observed, while she was searching, 'so you are to chip the
shell.'

'I'm only going to London--I'm not coming out.'

'Gammon!' he said, with an odd wink. 'You need never go in again, like
the what's-his-name in the fairy tale, or you are a sillier child than I
take you for. They'--nodding at the piano--'are getting a terrible pair
of old cats, and we want something young and pretty about.'

With this unusual compliment, Phoebe, seeing the way clear to the door,
rose to depart, most reluctantly followed by Bertha, and more willingly
by Maria, who began, the moment they were in the hall--

'Phoebe, why do they get a couple of terrible old cats? I don't like
them. I shall be afraid.'

'Mervyn didn't mean--' began perplexed Phoebe, cut short by Bertha's
boisterous laughter. 'Oh, Maria, what a goose you are! You'll be the
death of me some day! Why, Juliana and Augusta are the cats themselves.
Oh, dear! I wanted to kiss Mervyn for saying so. Oh, wasn't it fun! And
now, Maria,--oh! if I could have stayed a moment longer!'

'Bertha, Bertha, not such a noise in the hall. Come, Maria; mind, you
must not tell anybody. Bertha, come,' expostulated Phoebe, trying to
drag her sister to the red baize door; but Bertha stood, bending nearly
double, exaggerating the helplessness of her paroxysms of laughter.

'Well, at least the cat will have something to scratch her,' she gasped
out. 'Oh, I did so want to stay and see!'

'Have you been playing any tricks?' exclaimed Phoebe, with consternation,
as Bertha's deportment recurred to her.

'Tricks?--I couldn't help it. Oh, listen, Phoebe!' cried Bertha, with
her wicked look of triumph. 'I brought home such a lovely sting-nettle
for Miss Fennimore's peacock caterpillar; and when I heard how kind dear
Juliana was to you about your visit to London, I thought she really must
have it for a reward; so I