Belle laughed, and held up her face for a kiss, which her father gave with a hearty good will.

Mrs. Parton was not the only one who felt dress to be a matter of importance on this occasion.  Charlotte Ellis stopped at the bank gate to ask Katherine what she was going to wear.

“My blue lawn, I think,” Katherine answered.  “Mother says it is nice enough, and that I must keep my new white dress for Commencement.”

“Your blue dress is very pretty, I am sure,” Charlotte said.  She was two years older than Katherine, and her manner was mildly patronizing.  “I think I shall wear white.  Of course it is not a party, but we want to make a good impression on a stranger.”

Katherine felt the force of this, but Maurice, who overheard Charlotte, was inclined to jeer.  “Much difference it will make to her what you have on,” he said, as Charlotte left them.  “Her,” meant Rosalind.

“How do you know it won’t make any difference?” asked Katherine.

“Because she is not that kind.”

“What kind?  How do you know?”

Now Maurice had kept his interview with Rosalind to himself, saying nothing to any one when he returned her book.  His sudden interest in Shakespeare had not passed unnoticed; but as this or something else had caused longer intervals of cheerfulness, the family had not ventured to disturb the agreeable change by asking questions.

“I know, because I talked to her the other day,” he replied.

“Maurice, really?” cried Katherine.  “I don’t believe it”

“You needn’t if you don’t want to,” was her brother’s lofty answer.

On the appointed evening the guest of honor was the last to arrive, and the others were in such a state of expectancy they could not settle down to an examination of Miss Betty’s puzzle drawer with which she usually entertained her young guests until supper was announced.  Miss Betty, who adored puzzles and problems of all kinds, was continually adding to her collection, and this evening there was a brand new one, brought from the city only the day before; but even Belle, who was especially good at puzzles, and besides affected not to care about Rosalind Whittredge, could not keep her eyes from the window.

The application of French chalk had been successful, and she wore her blue and white silk; Katherine, in her blue muslin, with ribbons to match on her smooth braids, wished her mother had been more impressed with the importance of the occasion.  Charlotte was complacent in her white dress with a large ribbon bow on top of her head, in a new fashion just received from her cousin in Baltimore.

“That’s the way Rosalind wears hers,” whispered Katherine.

The boys fingered the puzzles and talked about the ball game to be played to-morrow, but they shared the feeling of anticipation.  Their hostess bustled back and forth.

“Children,” she said, pausing in the door, “I want you to be as nice as possible to Rosalind.  Remember she is a stranger, and we wish her to have a pleasant impression of Friendship.”