stairs, 'the back ones,' as Mysie explained, and had reached a slippery
oak hall with high-backed chairs, and all the odds and ends of a
family-garden hats, waterproofs, galoshes, bats, rackets, umbrellas,
etc., ranged round, and a great white cockatoo upon a stand, who
observed--'Mysie, Cockie wants his breakfast,' as they went by towards
the door, whence proceeded a hubbub of voices and a clatter of knives
and jingle of teaspoons and cups, a room that as Mysie threw open the
door seemed a blaze of sunshine, pouring in at the large window, and
reflected in the glass and silver. Yes, and in the bright eyes and
glossy hair of the party who sat round the breakfast-table, further
brightened by the fire, pleasant in the early autumn.

Eyes, as it seemed to Dolores, eyes without number were levelled on
her, as Mysie led her in, saying--

'Here's a place by mamma; she kept it for you, between her and Uncle
William.'

'No, don't all jump up at once and rush at her,' said Lady Merrifield.
'Give her a little time. Here, my dear;' and she held out her hand and
drew in the stranger to her, kissing her kindly, and placing her in a
chair close to herself, as she presided over the teacups--not at the
end, but at the middle of the table--while all that could be desired to
eat and drink found its way at once to Dolores, who had arrived at
being hungry now, and was glad to have the employment for hands and
eyes, instead of feeling herself gazed at. She was not so much
occupied, however, as not to perceive that Uncle William's voice had a
free, merry ring in it, such as she had never heard in his visits to
her father, and that there was a great deal of fun and laughter going
on over the thin sheets of an Indian letter, which Aunt Lily was