which she bored perseveringly with a needle, that in her fingers
seemed almost a skewer, pricking herself ever and anon, marking the
cambric with a track of minute red dots; occasionally starting when
the perverse weapon--swerving from her control--inflicted a deeper
stab than usual; but still silent, diligent, absorbed, womanly.

Graham was at that time a handsome, faithless-looking youth of
sixteen. I say faithless-looking, not because he was really of a very
perfidious disposition, but because the epithet strikes me as proper
to describe the fair, Celtic (not Saxon) character of his good looks;
his waved light auburn hair, his supple symmetry, his smile frequent,
and destitute neither of fascination nor of subtlety (in no bad
sense). A spoiled, whimsical boy he was in those days.

"Mother," he said, after eyeing the little figure before him in
silence for some time, and when the temporary absence of Mr. Home from
the room relieved him from the half-laughing bashfulness, which was
all he knew of timidity---"Mother, I see a young lady in the present
society to whom I have not been introduced."

"Mr. Home's little girl, I suppose you mean," said his mother.

"Indeed, ma'am," replied her son, "I consider your expression of the
least ceremonious: Miss Home _I_ should certainly have said, in
venturing to speak of the gentlewoman to whom I allude."

"Now, Graham, I will not have that child teased. Don't flatter
yourself that I shall suffer you to make her your butt."

"Miss Home," pursued Graham, undeterred by his mother's remonstrance,