er cheeks, and contrasted with the dark and shining masses
of her hair; and on her neck glistened a little pendant of her mother's
jewels, which Aunt Mary, with Cousin Eleanor's assistance, had had set in
New York. Honora's figure was that of a woman of five and twenty: her
neck was a slender column, her head well set, and the look of race, which
had been hers since childhood, was at nineteen more accentuated. All this
she saw, and went down the stairs in a kind of exultation. And when on
the threshold of the drawing-room she paused, the conversation suddenly
ceased. Mr. Holt and his sons got up somewhat precipitately, and Mrs.
Holt came forward to meet her.

"I hope you weren't waiting for me," said Honora, timidly.

"No indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Holt. Tucking Honora's hand under her
arm, she led the way majestically to the dining-room, a large apartment
with a dimly lighted conservatory at the farther end, presided over by
the decorous butler and his assistants. A huge chandelier with prisms
hung over the flowers at the centre of the table, which sparkled with
glass and silver, while dishes of vermilion and yellow fruits relieved
the whiteness of the cloth. Honora found herself beside Mr. Holt, who
looked more shrivelled than ever in his evening clothes. And she was
about to address him when, with a movement as though to forestall her, he
leaned forward convulsively and began a mumbling grace.

The dinner itself was more like a ceremony than a meal, and as it
proceeded, Honora found it increasingly difficult to rid herself of a
curious feeling of being on probation.

Joshua, who sat on her other side and ate prodigiously, scarcely
addressed a word to her; but she gathered from his remarks to his father
and brother that he was interested in cows. And Mr. Holt was almost
exclusively occupied in slowly masticating the special dishes which the
butler impressively laid before him. He asked her a few questions about
Miss Turner's school, but it was not until she had admired the mass of
peonies in the centre of the table that his eyes brightened, and he
smiled.

"You like flowers?" he asked.

"I love them," slid Honora.

"I am the gardener here," he said. "You must see my garden, Miss
Leffingwell. I am in it by half-past six every morning, rain or shine."

Honora looked up, and surprised Mrs. Robert's eyes fixed on her with the
same strange expression she had noticed on her arrival. And for some
senseless reason,