and romping propensities under the score of youth.  She was sixteen, and was possessed of terrible vitality.  “I am sure they take after their father altogether,” Mr. Grey had once said when the three left the Manor-house together.  At half-past six punctually they came.  Dolly heard a great clatter of four people leaving their clogs and cloaks in the hall, and would not move out of the unused drawing-room, in which for the moment she was seated.  Betsey had to prepare the dinner-table down-stairs, and would have been sadly discomfited had she been driven to do it in the presence of three Carroll girls.  For it must be understood that Betsey had no greater respect for the Carroll girls than her mistress.  “Well, Aunt Carroll, how does the world use you?”

“Very badly.  You haven’t been up to see me for ten days.”

“I haven’t counted; but when I do come I don’t often do any good.  How are Minna, and Brenda, and Potsey?”

“Poor Potsey has got a nasty boil under her arm.”

“It comes from eating too much toffy,” said Georgina.  “I told her it would.”

“How very nasty you are!” said Miss Carroll.  “Do leave the child and her ailments alone!”

“Poor papa isn’t very well, either,” said Sophy, who was supposed to be her father’s pet.

“I hope his state of health will not debar him from dining with his friends to-night,” said Miss Grey.

“You have always something ill-natured to say about papa,” said Sophy.

“Nothing will ever keep him back when conviviality demands his presence.”  This came from his afflicted wife, who, in spite of all his misfortunes, would ever speak with some respect of her husband’s employments.  “He wasn’t at all in a fit state to go to-night, but he had promised, and that was enough.”

When they had waited three-quarters of an hour Amelia began to complain,—­certainly not without reason.  “I wonder why Uncle John always keeps us waiting in this way?”

“Papa has, unfortunately, something to do with his time, which is not altogether his own.”  There was not much in these words, but the tone in which they were uttered would have crushed any one more susceptible than Amelia Carroll.  But at that moment the cab arrived, and Dolly went down to meet her father.

“Have they come?” he asked.

“Come,” she answered, taking his gloves and comforter from him, and giving him a kiss as she did so.  “That girl up-stairs is nearly famished.”

“I won’t be half a moment,” said the repentant father, hastening up-stairs to go through his ordinary dressing arrangement.

“I wouldn’t hurry for her,” said Dolly; “but of course you’ll hurry.  You always do, don’t you, papa?” Then they sat down to dinner.

“Well, girls, what is your news?”

“We were out to-day on the Brompton Road,” said the eldest, “and there came up Prince Chitakov’s drag with four roans.”

“Prince Chitakov!  I didn’t know there was such a prince.”