the rear.

During the drive home the Misses Blake (who have thoroughly enjoyed
themselves) are both pleasant and talkative. As the old horses jog
steadily along the twilit road, they converse in quite a lively fashion
of all they have heard and noticed, and laugh demurely over many a small
joke.

Kit of course, is in raptures. Her _first_ party and _such_ a success!
She had danced one set of quadrilles and one polka! _two_ whole dances!
Ye gods, was there ever so happy a child! She chatters, and laughs, and
rallies everybody so gayly that the old aunts are fain to die of
merriment.

Yet Monica, who might--an' she chose--have had two partners for every
dance, is strangely silent and depressed. No word escapes her: she leans
back with her pretty tired head pressed close against the cushions.
Perchance little Kit notices all this; because when any one addresses
Monica she makes answer for her in the most careless manner possible,
and by her sharp wit turns the attention of all from the sister she
adores; yet in her heart she is angry with Monica.

Once only during this homeward drive something occurs to disturb the
serenity of the Misses Blake. Kit, in one of her merry sallies, has
touched upon Miss Fitzgerald; whereupon Aunt Priscilla, mindful of that
late and lingering adieu of Terence, says, suddenly,--

"And how do _you_ like Miss Fitzgerald, Terence?"

"She's delightful, aunt!" says the stricken Terence, enthusiastically.
"Perfectly enchanting! You never met so nice a girl!"

"Oh, yes! I think I have, Terence," says Miss Priscilla, freezingly. "I
am, indeed, _sure_ I have."

"There's something about her right down fetching," says Mr. Beresford,
giving himself airs. "Something--er--_there_, but difficult to
describe."

"A 'je ne sais quoi young man,'" quotes the younger Miss Beresford, with
a sneer. "She's tall enough to be one, at any rate. She is a horrid girl
I think."

"You're jealous," says Terence, contemptuously. "Because you know you
will never be half as good to look at."

"If I thought that," says Kit, growing very red, "I'd commit suicide."

"Tut! You are too silly a child to be argued with," says Terence, in a
tone that is not to be borne.

Kit, rising in her seat, prepares for battle, and is indeed about to
hurl a scathing rebuke upon him, when Miss Priscilla interrupts her.

"What is this great charm you see in Miss Fitzgerald, Terence?" she asks
slowly.

"That is just what I cannot d