good dressmaker, when she wishes to appear at her best.

Elma Ramsden, with the makings of a beauty, was just a pretty, dowdy
girl, at whom a passer-by would hardly cast a second glance. She looked
bored too, and a trifle discontented, and her voice had a flat,
uninterested tone.

"Well, mother, back again! Have you enjoyed your call?"

"Thank you, dear, it was hardly a case of enjoyment. I was invited to
give my opinion of a matter of importance."

"Yes, I know!--Should she have the sweep this week, or the week after
next?--Should she have new covers for the drawing-room?--Would you
advise slate-grey, or grey-slate for the new dress? ... I hope you
brought the weight of your intellect to bear on the great problems, and
solved them to your mutual satisfaction!"

Mrs Ramsden seated herself on a deeply-cushioned arm-chair, and began
pulling off her tight kid gloves. A touch of offence was visible in her
demeanour, and the feather in the front of her bonnet reared itself at
an aggressive angle.

"It is not in good taste, my dear, to talk in that tone to your mother.
Matters of domestic interest may not appeal to you in your present
irresponsible position, but they are not without their own importance.
The subject of to-day's discussion, however, was something quite
different. You will be interested to hear that Miss Briskett is
expecting a young American niece to pay her a visit at an early date."

"How young?" inquired Elma, tentatively. Her mother had a habit of
alluding to "girls" of thirty-five, which did not commend itself to her
youthful judgment. She reserved her interest until assured on this
important point.

"About your own age or slightly younger. The only daughter of Mr
Edward Briskett, the head of the family. His business takes him away
from home for several months, and his daughter is anxious to avail
herself of the opportunity of visiting her aunt."

"Oh!" said Elma; no more and no less, but as she turned her pansy-like
eyes once more to the window, she grimaced expressively. She was sorry
for the delusion of the American daughter who was willing to cross a
whole ocean for the privilege of beholding Miss Sophia Briskett!

"What is she like?" she asked presently. "Did you hear anything about
her?"

Mrs Ramsden shook her head dolefully.

"I fear, dear--strictly between ourselves--that she is not precisely
what we should call a _nice_ girl! The tone of her letter was decidedly
flipp