ghtened at the sight of the party. After the question--whether
there had been any letters from Harry? he asked whether his father
were coming?--and Ethel thought he seemed nervous at the idea of this
addition to his audience. He saw them to their hotel, and, promising
them his two guests, departed.

Ethel watched collegiate figures passing in the street, and recollected
the gray buildings, just glimpsed at in her drive--it was dreamy and
confused, and she stood musing, not discovering that it was time to
dress, till Flora and her Frenchwoman came in, and laid violent hands on
her.

The effect of their manipulations was very successful. Ethel was made to
look well-dressed, and, still more, distinguished. Her height told well,
when her lankiness was overcome, and her hair was disposed so as to set
off her features to advantage. The glow of amusement and pleasure did
still more for her; and Norman, who was in the parlour when the sisters
appeared, quite started with surprise and satisfaction at her aspect.

"Well done. Flora!" he said. "Why! I have been telling Ogilvie that one
of my sisters was very plain!"

"Then, I hope we have been preparing an agreeable surprise for him,"
said Flora. "Ethel is very much obliged to you. By the bye," she said,
in her universal amity, "I must ask Harvey Anderson to dinner one of
these days?" Norman started, and his face said "Don't."

"Oh, very well; it is as you please. I thought it would please
Stoneborough, and that Edward was a protege of yours. What has he been
doing? Did we not hear he had been distinguishing himself? Dr. Hoxton
was boasting of his two scholars."

"Ask him," said Norman hurriedly. "At least," said he, "do not let
anything from me prevent you."

"Has he been doing anything wrong?" reiterated Flora.

"Not that I know of," was the blunt answer; and, at the same instant,
Mr. Ogilvie arrived. He was a pleasant, high-bred looking gentleman,
brown-complexioned, and dark-eyed, with a brisk and resolute cast
of countenance, that, Ethel thought, might have suited the Norman of
Glenbracken, who died on the ruddy Lion of Scotland, and speaking with
the very same slight degree of Scottish intonation as she remembered in
her mother, making a most home-like sound in her ears.

Presently, the rest of their own party came down, and, soon after,
Charles Cheviot appeared, looking as quiet and tame, as he used to be in
the schoolboy days, when Norman would bring him home, an