ngements for St. Andrew's Day. She
owned herself overworked, and in need of rest, and, as she was not well
enough to venture on being present at the consecration, she undertook
to spend the day with Margaret, thus setting the others at liberty. This
settled, she took her leave, for the journey had fatigued her greatly.

During the short visit, Mary had moved and spoken so quietly, and looked
so well-dressed and young-lady-like, that, in spite of her comfortable
plump cheeks, Ethel felt quite afraid!

But the instant the carriage had driven off, there was a skipping, a
hugging, a screaming, "Oh, it is so nice to be at home again!"--and
Ethel knew she had her own Mary. It was only a much better looking
and more mannerly Mary, in the full bloom of seventeen, open and
honest-faced, her profuse light hair prettily disposed, her hands and
arms more civilised, and her powers of conversation and self-possession
developed. Mary-like were her caresses of Gertrude, Mary-like her
inquiries for Cocksmoor, Mary-like her insisting on bringing her boxes
into Margaret's room, her exulting exhibition of all the pretty things
that Flora and George had given to her, and the still more joyous
bestowal of presents upon everybody.

Her tastes were not a whit altered, nor her simplicity diminished. If
she was pleased by joining a large dinner-party, her satisfaction was
in the amusement of seeing well-dressed people, and a grand table; her
knowledge of the world only reached to pronouncing everything unlike
home, "so funny;" she had relished most freshly and innocently every
pleasure that she could understand, she had learned every variety of
fancy work to teach Blanche and Miss Bracy, had been the delight
of every schoolroom and nursery, had struck up numberless eternal
friendships, and correspondences with girls younger and shyer than
herself, and her chief vexations seemed to have been first, that Flora
insisted on her being called Miss May, secondly, that all her delights
could not be shared by every one at home, and thirdly, that poor Flora
could not bear to look at little children.

Grievous complaints were preferred by the dwellers in the attics the
next morning, that Mary and Blanche had talked to an unmentionable hour
of the night; but, on the whole, Blanche was rather doubtful whether
Mary had made the most of her opportunities of observation.

CHAPTER XXV.

Behold, with pearls they glittering stand,
Thy pe