ough a hall full of beautiful vases, stuffed
birds, busts, etc., tastefully arranged, and he did not look up till
they were entering a handsome dining-room, where a small square table
was laid out for luncheon near a noble fire.

The two ladies were there, and Mr. Rivers introduced them as his
daughter and Mrs. Larpent. It was the most luxurious meal that Norman
had ever seen, the plate, the porcelain, and all the appointments of
the table so elegant, and the viands, all partaking of the Christmas
character, and of a recherche delicate description quite new to him.
He had to serve as his father's right hand, and was so anxious to put
everything as Dr. May liked it, and without attracting notice, that he
hardly saw or listened till Dr. May began to admire a fine Claude on the
opposite wall, and embarked in a picture discussion. The doctor had
much taste for art, and had made the most of his opportunities of seeing
paintings during his time of study at Paris, and in a brief tour to
Italy. Since that time, few good pictures had come in his way, and these
were a great pleasure to him, while Mr. Rivers, a regular connoisseur,
was delighted to meet with one who could so well appreciate them. Norman
perceived how his father was enjoying the conversation, and was much
interested both by the sight of the first fine paintings he had ever
seen, and by the talk about their merits; but the living things in the
room had more of his attention and observation, especially the young
lady who sat at the head of the table; a girl about his own age; she
was on a very small scale, and seemed to him like a fairy, in the airy
lightness and grace of her movements, and the blithe gladsomeness of her
gestures and countenance. Form and features, though perfectly healthful
and brisk, had the peculiar finish and delicacy of a miniature painting,
and were enhanced by the sunny glance of her dark soft smiling eyes.
Her hair was in black silky braids, and her dress, with its gaiety of
well-assorted colour, was positively refreshing to his eye, so long
accustomed to the deep mourning of his sisters. A little Italian
greyhound, perfectly white, was at her side, making infinite variations
of the line of beauty and grace, with its elegant outline, and S-like
tail, as it raised its slender nose in hopes of a fragment of bread
which she from time to time dispensed to it.

Luncheon over, Mr. Rivers asked Dr. May to step into his library, and
Norman guessed t