Alice, whatever is convenient," I answered quietly.

Mrs. Bancroft was a motherly woman, and Mr. Bancroft was a fatherly
man. Five children sat round the tea-table, distinguished by the
Bancroft nose. Helen and I were seated each side of Mr. Somers. The
table reminded me of our table at Surrey, it was so covered with vast
viands; but the dishes were alike, and handsome. I wondered whether
mother had bought the new china in Boston, and, buttering my second
hot biscuit, I thought of Veronica; then, of the sea. How did it look?
Hark! Its voice was in my ear! Could I climb the housetop? Might I not
see the mist which hung over our low-lying sea by Surrey?

"Will you take quince or apple jelly, Miss Morgeson?" asked Mrs.
Bancroft.

"Apple, if you please."

"Do you write that sister of yours often?" asked Mr. Somers, as he
passed me the apple jelly.

"I never write her."

"Will you tell me something of Surrey?"

"Mr. Somers, shall I give you a cup-custard?"

"No, thank you, mam."

"Surrey is lonely, evangelical, primitive."

"Belem is dreary too; most of it goes to Boston, or to India."

"Does it smell of sandal wood? And has everybody tea-caddies? _Vide_
Indian stories."

"We have a crate of queer things from Calcutta."

"Are you going to study law with Judge Ryder?" Mr. Bancroft inquired.

"I think so."

Then Helen pushed back her chair; and Mrs. Bancroft stood in her place
long enough for us to reach the parlor door.

"And I must go to the office," Mr. Bancroft said, so we had the parlor
to ourselves; but Mr. Somers did not read from Tennyson--for he had
forgotten to bring the book.

"Now for a compact," he said. "I must be called Ben Somers by you; and
may I call you Cassandra, and Helen?"

"Yes," we answered.

"Let us be confidential."

And we were. I was drawn into speaking of my life at home; my remarks,
made without premeditation, proved that I possessed ideas and feelings
hitherto unknown. I felt no shyness before him, and, although I saw
his interest in me, no agitation. Helen was also moved to tell us
that she was engaged. She rolled up her sleeve to show us a bracelet,
printed in ink on her arm, with the initials, "L.N." Those of her
cousin, she said; he was a sailor, and some time, she supposed, they
would marry.

"How could you consent to have your arm so defaced?" I asked.

Her eyes flashed as she replied that she had not looked upon the mark
in that light before.

"We may all b