she observed; "he is so
original."

"Yes, he is," said John.

"But at what time of day are you generally at home," she continued, not
observing, or perhaps not intending to observe that the flowers could
have been shown during their owner's absence. "At luncheon time, or at
what time?"

John, thus appealed to, paused an instant; he had never thought of
coming home to entertain the ladies, but he could not be inhospitable,
and he concluded that the mistake was real. "At luncheon time," he
presently said, and named a day when he would be at home, being very
careful to address the invitation to Mrs. Walker.

He then retired with his children, who were now in very good spirits;
they gave their hands to Justina, who would have liked to kiss them, but
the sprites skipped away in their father's wake, and while he walked
home, lost in thought on grave and serious things, they broke in every
now and then with their childish speculations on life and manners.

"Swanny must put on his Sunday coat when they come, and his orange
handkerchief that Janie hemmed for him because Mrs. Swan's fingers are
all crumpled up," said the little girl.

"Father, what's a Methodist?" asked Hugh.

Before John could answer little Bertram informed his brother, "It is a
thing about not going to church. It has nothing to do with her fingers
being crumpled up, that's rheumatism."

CHAPTER XXIV.

SELF-WONDER AND SELF-SCORN.

"Something there is moves me to love, and I
Do know I love, but know not how, nor why."

A. BROME.

As John and his children withdrew together through the garden, Justina
Fairbairn sat with her work on her knees, watching them.

"Mr. Mortimer is six-and-thirty, is he not?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Emily.

"How much he improves in appearance!" she observed; "he used not to be
thought handsome when he was very young--he is both handsome and stately
now."

"It is the way with the Mortimers, I think," said Emily. "I should not
wonder if in ten years' time Val is just as majestic as the old men used
to be, though he has no dignity at all about him now."

"Yes, majesty is the right word," said Justina serenely. "Mr. Mortimer
has a finer presence, a finer carriage than formerly; it may be partly
because he is not so very thin as he used to be."

"Perhaps so," said Emily.

"And this was his first call," continued Justina, obliged to make
openings for herself through which to push what she had t