attributed to the same cause. Having taken a seat near Minnie he
kept his look steadily fixed upon her, and evidently discoursed with
a view of affording her amusement; not altogether successfully it
appeared, for the young girl--she was but seventeen--grew more and
more timid, less and less able to murmur replies. She was prettier
than her mother had ever been, and spoke with a better accent. Her
features suggested a more delicate physical inheritance than Mrs.
Clover's comeliness could account for. As a matter of fact she had
her father's best traits, though Mrs. Glover frequently thanked
goodness that in character she by no means resembled him.

Mr. Gammon was in the midst of a vivid description of a rat hunt, in
which a young terrier had displayed astonishing mettle, when his
hostess abruptly interposed.

"Minnie, I wish you'd put your hat on and run round to Mrs. Walker's
for me. I'll give you a message when you're ready."

Very willingly the girl rose and left the room. Mr. Gammon, whose
countenance had fallen, turned to the mother with jocose
remonstrance.

"Now I call that too bad. What did you want to go sending her away
for?"

"What does it matter?" was Mrs. Clover's reply, uttered
good-humouredly, but with some impatience. "The child doesn't want
to hear about rats and terriers."

"Child? I don't call her a child. Besides, you'd only to give me a