“Yes,” said Adelaide, “Lora and her tribe are in it, no doubt; and probably Mrs. Bowles too (Carrie Howard you know, Elsie).  They have been late in calling.”

“Some good reason for it, and they are none the less welcome,” remarked Rose, quickening her pace.

The one party reached the house just as the other two had fairly alighted, and a scene of joyous greeting ensued.

“You dear child! how good of you to come back to us again, and single too,” exclaimed Mrs. Bowles, clasping Elsie in a warm embrace; “I’d almost given it up, and expected by every mail to hear you had become Lady or Countess this, or Duchess that.”

Elsie smiled and blushed, and meeting the eye of her betrothed fixed for an instant upon her with an expression of unutterable content, thankfulness, love and pride, smiled and blushed again.

Carrie caught the look and its effect upon her friend, and almost breathless with astonishment, took the first opportunity, after all were seated in the drawing-room, to prefer a whispered request to be taken to Elsie’s own private apartment for a moment, to see that her hair and dress were in proper order.

They had come to spend the day, and bonnets and shawls had already been carried away by the servants in attendance.

“Now girls, don’t run off for an interminable chat by yourselves,” said Mrs. Howard, as the two rose and crossed the room together.

“No, Aunt Lora, we’ll not stay long,” said Elsie; “for I want to improve every moment of your visit, in renewing my acquaintance with you and my young cousins.”

“Your family has grown, Lora,” remarked her brother.

“Yes, rather faster than yours,” she said, looking round with pride upon her little group of four boys, and a girl yet in her nurse’s arms.  “Go and speak to your uncle, Ned, Walter, Horace, and Arthur.  You see I have given you a namesake; and this little pet we call Rose Louise, for her two aunties.  Yours is Rose, too! and what a darling! and how little Horace has grown!”

“Elsie, it can’t be possible!” cried Carrie, the instant they found themselves alone.

“What can’t?” and Elsie’s blush and smile were charming.

“That you and Mr. Travilla are lovers!  I saw it in your faces; but, ’tis too absurd!  Why, he’s your father’s friend, and nearly as old.”

“All the wiser and better for that, Carrie, dear.  But he is young in heart, and far from looking old, I think.  I have grown so sick of your silly, brainless fops, who expect women neither to talk sense nor understand it.”

“Ah, I dare say! and Mr. Travilla is the most sensible and polished of men—­always excepting my own spouse, of course.  And you won’t be taken away from us; so I give my consent.”

Elsie’s only answer was a mirthful, amused look.

“Oh, but I am glad to see you back!” Carrie ran on.  “It seems an age since you went away.”