which used to run counter to his wife's arrangements, a dinner-party had
been fixed for this identical Wednesday, and the prospect was agreeable
to no one, especially when the four o'clock train did not bring Mr.
Edmonstone, who, therefore, was not to be expected till seven, when all
the world would be arrived.

Laura helped Amy to dress, put the flowers in her hair, kissed her, and
told her it was a trying day; and Amy sighed wearily, thanked her, and
went down with arms twined in hers, whispering, 'If I could help being
so foolish as to let myself have a little hope!'

Laura thought the case so hopeless, that she was sorry Amy could not
cease from the foolishness, and did not answer. Amy sat down at the foot
of the sofa, whither Charles was now carried down every day, and without
venturing to look at him, worked at her netting. A carriage--her
colour came and went, but it was only some of the guests; another--the
Brownlows. Amy was speaking to Miss Brownlow when she heard more
greetings; she looked up, caught by the arm of the sofa, and looked
again. Her father was pouring out apologies and welcomes, and her mother
was shaking hands with Guy.

Was it a dream? She shut her eyes, then looked again. He was close to
her by this time, she felt his fingers close on her white glove for
one moment, but she only heard his voice in the earnest 'How are you,
Charlie?' Her father came to her, gave her first his usual kiss of
greeting, then, not letting her go, looked at her for a moment, and, as
if he could not help it, kissed her on both cheeks, and said, 'How d'ye
do, my little Amy?' in a voice that meant unutterable things. All the
room was swimming round; there was nothing for it but to run away, and
she ran, but from the ante-room she heard the call outside, 'Sir Guy's
bag to his room,' and she could not rush out among the servants. At that
moment, however, she spied Mary Ross and her father; she darted up to
them, said something incoherent about Mary's bonnet, and took her up to
her own room.

'Amy, my dear, you look wild. What has come to you?'

'Papa is come home, and--' the rest failed, and Amy was as red as the
camellia in her hair.

'And?' repeated Mary, 'and the mystery is explained?'

'Oh! I don't know; they are only just come, and I was so silly, I ran
away,--I did not know what to do.'

'_They_ are come, are they?' thought Mary. 'My little Amy, I see it
all.'

She made the taking off her bonnet and the