r. White
turned to his book with another recommendation to his daughter to take
some supper and get to bed.

"I will go now," she said, rather wearily, as she rose. "Good-night,
papa--What is that?"

She was looking at a parcel that lay on a chair.

"It came for you, to-night. There was seven and sixpence to pay for
extra carriage--it seems to have been forwarded from place to place."

"As if I had not enough luggage to carry about with me!" she said.

But she proceeded to open the parcel all the same, which seemed to be
very carefully swathed in repeated covers of canvas. And presently she
uttered a slight exclamation. She took up one dark object after another,
passing her hand over them, and back again, and finally pressing them to
her cheek.

"Just look at these, papa--did you ever in all your life see anything so
beautiful?"

She came to a letter, too; which she hastily tore open and read. It was
a brief note, in terms of great respect, written by Sir Keith Macleod,
and begging Miss White's acceptance of a small parcel of otter-skins,
which he hoped might be made into some article of attire. Moreover, he
had asked his cousin's advice on the matter; and she thought there were
enough; but if Miss White, on further inquiry, found she would rather
have one or two more, he had no doubt that within the next month or so
he could obtain these also. It was a very respectful note.

But there was no shyness or timidity about the manner of Miss White when
she spread those skins out along the sofa, and again and again took them
up to praise their extraordinary glossiness and softness.

"Papa," she exclaimed, "it is a present fit for a prince to make!"

"I dare say you will find them useful."

"And whatever is made of them," said she, with decision, "that I shall
keep for myself--it won't be one of my stage properties."

Her spirits rose wonderfully. She kept on chatting to her father about
these lovely skins, and the jacket she would have of them. She asked why
he was so dull that evening. She protested that she would not take any
supper unless he had some too: whereupon he had a biscuit and a glass of
claret, which, at all events, compelled him to lay aside his book. And
then, when she had finished her supper, she suddenly said,--

"Now, Pappy dear, I am going to tell you a great secret. I am going to
change the song in the second act."

"Nonsense!" said he; but he was rather glad to see her come back to the
in