yet?'

'Quite, my Rose!' said Evan, and they walked to the house, not quite
knowing what they were going to do.

On the steps they met Drummond with Mrs. Evremonde. Little imagining how
heart and heart the two had grown, and that Evan would understand him,
Drummond called to Rose playfully: 'Time's up.'

'Is it?' Rose answered, and to Mrs. Evremonde

'Give Drummond a walk. Poor Drummond is going silly.'

Evan looked into his eyes calmly as he passed.

'Where are you going, Rose?' said Mrs. Evremonde.

'Going to give my maid Polly a whipping for losing a letter she ought to
have delivered to me last night,' said Rose, in a loud voice, looking
at Drummond. 'And then going to Mama. Pleasure first--duty after. Isn't
that the proverb, Drummond?'

She kissed her fingers rather scornfully to her old friend.

CHAPTER XXVI. MRS. MEL MAKES A BED FOR HERSELF AND FAMILY

The last person thought of by her children at this period was Mrs. Mel:
nor had she been thinking much of them till a letter from Mr. Goren
arrived one day, which caused her to pass them seriously in review.
Always an early bird, and with maxims of her own on the subject of
rising and getting the worm, she was standing in a small perch in the
corner of the shop, dictating accounts to Mrs. Fiske, who was copying
hurriedly, that she might earn sweet intervals for gossip, when Dandy
limped up and delivered the letter. Mrs. Fiske worked hard while her
aunt was occupied in reading it, for a great deal of fresh talk follows
the advent of the post, and may be reckoned on. Without looking up,
however, she could tell presently that the letter had been read through.
Such being the case, and no conversation coming of it, her curiosity was
violent. Her aunt's face, too, was an index of something extraordinary.
That inflexible woman, instead of alluding to the letter in any way,
folded it up, and renewed her dictation. It became a contest between
them which should show her human nature first. Mrs. Mel had to repress
what she knew; Mrs. Fiske to control the passion for intelligence.
The close neighbourhood of one anxious to receive, and one capable of
giving, waxed too much for both.

'I think, Anne, you are stupid this morning,' said Mrs. Mel.

'Well, I am, aunt,' said Mrs. Fiske, pretending not to see which was the
first to unbend, 'I don't know what it is. The figures seem all dazzled
like. I shall really be glad when Evan comes to take his proper place.'