the faces before her. "Does he tell you his
plans, Miss Lothrop?"

"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Burrage?" said Lois. "I am always interested
when anybody speaks of Switzerland."

"Switzerland!" cried the lady, sinking into a chair, and her eyes going
to her brother again. "You are not talking of _Switzerland_ for next
summer?"

"Where can one be better in summer?"

"But you have been there ever so many times!"

"By which I know how good it will be to go again."

"I thought you would spend the summer with me!"

"Where?" he asked, with a smile.

"Philip, I wish you would dress your hair like other people."

"It defies dressing, sister," he said, passing his hand over the thick
mass.

"No, no, I mean your moustache. When you smile, it gives you a demoniac
expression, which drives me out of all patience. Miss Lothrop, would he
not look a great deal better if he would cut off those Hungarian
twists, and wear his upper lip like a Christian?"

This was a trial! Lois gave one glance at the moustache in question, a
glance compounded of mingled horror and amusement, and flushed all
over. Philip saw the glance and commanded his features only by a strong
exertion of will, remaining, however, to all seeming as impassive as a
judge.

"You don't think so?" said Mrs. Burrage. "Philip, why are you not at
that picture sale this minute, with me?"

"Why are you not there, let me ask, this minute without me?"

"Because I wanted you to tell me if I should buy in that Murillo."

"I can tell you as well here as there. What do you want to buy it for?"

"What a question! Why, they say it is a genuine Murillo, and no doubt
about it; and I have just one place on the wall in my second
drawing-room, where something is wanting; there is one place not filled
up, and it looks badly."

"And the Murillo is to fill up the vacant space?"

"Yes. If you say it is worth it."

"Worth what?"

"The money. Five hundred. But I dare say they would take four, and
perhaps three. It is a real Murillo, they say. Everybody says."

"Jessie, I think it would be extravagance."

"Extravagance! Five hundred dollars for a Murillo! Why, everybody says
it is no price at all."

"Not for the Murillo; but for a wall panel, I think it is. What do you
say, Miss Lothrop, to panelling a room at five hundred dollars the
panel?"

"Miss Lothrop's experience in panels would hardly qualify her to answer
you," Mrs. Burrage said, with a polite covert sneer.

"