ined against the lighted hall Kitty
could see her distinctly, while she, her eyes dazzled for the moment by
the light, could see nothing.

"Did Dr. Trenire bring one of his little girls with him, Reuben?"

"Yes'm."

"Do come in at once, child. Which is it? Kitty?"

"Yes," answered Kitty reluctantly.

"Then do come in. Whatever makes you stay out in the storm?" cried Lady
Kitson.

Kitty obediently, but most unwillingly, scrambled down from her seat.
Even from the carriage, and through the darkness, she could see how
charming and dainty Lady Kitson was looking. She had on a soft, flowing
gray silk gown, with white lace about her shoulders and arms, and her
beautiful golden hair gleamed brightly in the lamplight. Kitty, at
sight of her, suddenly realized with overwhelming shame that in her zeal
to drive her father and make her appeal, she had neither brushed her own
hair nor washed her hands, nor changed her old garden hat or morning
frock. She was, she knew, as disreputable-looking and untidy a daughter
as any father could feel ashamed of.

"How stupid of me--how stupid of me," she thought, full of vexation with
herself, "when I knew I was coming here, too."

There was nothing to be done, though, but to go in and live through this
ordeal as best she might. "Why do these things always happen to me?"
she groaned miserably. "If I had wanted very much to go in, and had had
on all new beautiful clothes, I should have been left out here to spoil
them. I wish father would come; he must have been gone quite half an
hour, I am sure, and Sir James can't want him any longer."

In the hall Lady Kitson held out a delicate white hand, with sparkling
rings on her fingers, and took Kitty's grubby one in hers. Some persons
might not have noticed the roughness and stains and marks made by the
reins, but Kitty knew that Lady Kitson did. Her keen eyes missed
nothing, and probably before very long she would be retailing to Dr.
Trenire all his daughter's shortcomings, and the crying necessity for
sending her away to a good boarding-school at once.

None of the Trenire children liked Lady Kitson, though they could hardly
have told you why. Poor Kitty felt now that she disliked her
exceedingly.

"Come into the drawing-room; the girls are there."

"The girls" were Lady Kitson's step-daughters. They were both of them
older than Kitty, but were inclined to be very friendly. The Trenire
children, though, did not respond