ontradiction's sake, and as he could rely on her prudence as on her
other good qualities, he said, "Well, Agnes, I have no objection; Hunter
of Blackfaulds is an honest man though he is poor, and he is righting
himself now."

The invitations were dispatched, and accepted gratefully. The guests
arrived before Bourhope occupied his quarters; ostensibly they came so
soon to prepare for him. Corrie had nothing Roman about her except her
name, Cornelia. She was a tall, well-made, fair-faced, serene beauty;
the sole remaining maiden daughter of a Scotchman who had returned from
the Indies with a fortune, as so many returned then. He had already
endowed Mrs. Spottiswoode with a handsome "tocher," and since his
marriage had settled within five miles of Priorton. Chrissy, again, was
one of a large, struggling family; a small girl, a very little crooked
in figure, and with irregular features, and a brown complexion. If she
had not possessed a bright, intelligent expression, she would certainly
have been plain--as indeed she was to those who did not heed expression.
It was a delightful chance to Chrissy, this brief transplanting into
the flourishing, cheerful town-house, amid the glowing gaiety of the
yeomanry weeks. Accordingly she was constantly engaged in checking off
every little detail on the finger-points of her active mind, in order
that she might be able to describe them to her secluded sisters and her
sick mother at home. She was determined not to miss one item of
interest; never to sleep-in so as to lose the mount; never to stray in
her walks and fail to be in the house for the return of the afternoon
drill. She would pace the meadows among the gay promenaders, even when
the evening was cloudy, and would not care though she walked alone. She
would enjoy the play when Mrs. Spottiswoode chose to take her, and not
even object to a squeeze in the box. The squeeze was really part of the
fun! But she did not care to have her attention distracted from the
stage, even by the proffers of fruit from the Yeomen. As to the ball,
she did not allow herself to think much of that. Who would ever have
dreamt of Chrissy figuring at a fine yeomanry ball! She would not
trouble herself because she wore an old worked white frock of her
mother's, taken up by tucks to suit her, and yellowed by frequent
washing and long keeping. She would not fret because she could not spend
money upon a hair-dresser. She must dress her own hair--which was
scant