loise
felt it, and was sorry when he was gone. The world looked very dreary
with the fog and rain outside, and the best room inside, with its stiff
hair-cloth furniture, glaring paper and cheap prints on the wall--one of
them of Beatrice Cenci, worse than anything she had ever seen. She was
very fastidious in her tastes, and everything rude and incongruous
offended it, and she was chafing against her surroundings, when Mrs.
Biggs came bustling in, very much excited, and exclaiming, "For the
land's sake, they are comin'! They are right here. They hain't let much
grass grow. Let me poke your hair back a little from your forehead,--so!
That's right, and more becomin'."

"Who are coming?" Eloise asked.

"Why, Mr. Crompton and his friend. I don't know his name," Mrs. Biggs
replied, and Eloise felt a sudden chill as she thought of the figure she
must present to them.

If she could only look in the glass and adjust herself a little, or if
Mrs. Biggs would throw something over the unsightly slipper and the
ankle smothered in so many bandages. The mirror was out of the question.
She had combed her hair with a side comb which had come safely through
the storm, but she felt that it was standing on end, and that she was a
very crumpled, sorry spectacle in Mrs. Biggs's spotted gown, with the
handkerchief round her neck. Hastily covering her foot with a fold of
the wide gown, she clasped her hands tightly together, and leaning her
head against the back of her chair, drew a long breath and waited.

She heard the steps outside, and Mrs. Biggs's "Good-mornin'; glad to see
you. She is expectin' you, or I am. Yes, her laig is pretty bad. Swelled
as big as two laigs, just as mine was twenty years ago come Christmas,
when I sprained it. Tim brought her downstairs where she can see folks.
She's in the parlor. Walk in."

Eloise's cheeks were blazing, but the rest of her face was very pale,
and her eyes had in them a hunted look as the young men entered the
room, preceded by Mrs. Biggs in her working apron, with her sleeves
rolled up.

"Miss Smith, this is Mr. Crompton," she said, indicating Howard; "and
the t'other one is--his name has slipped my mind."

"Harcourt," Jack said, feeling an intense sympathy for the helpless
girl, whose feelings he guessed and whose hand he held a moment with a
clasp in which she felt the pity, and had hard work to keep the tears
back.

Howard also took her hand and felt sorry for her, but he did not af