“I heard her go,” said Mrs. Nettley, coming in, “and I had a little more time to spare; so I thought I would spend it with you; —­ unless you’ve got enough with such a gay visiter and don’t want me.”

“O no indeed, Mrs. Nettley, I want you just as much.  Have you done dinner?”

“George isn’t ready yet;” and Mrs. Nettley took Miss Haye’s chair and set her knitting-needles a going.  “Has she tired you with talking?”

“No —­ talking doesn’t tire me, —­and she wasn’t a gay visiter, either, Mrs. Nettley —­ what do you mean by ’gay’?”

“O, she was handsome, and young, and ’fine feathers make fine birds’ I’m sure,” said Mrs. Nettley; —­ “wasn’t she smartly dressed?”

“Yes,” said Winnie, she had handsome things on; but that didn’t make her gay.”

“Well that was what I meant.  How do you like that young lady?”

“I don’t know,” said Winnie.  “I think I like her.”

“This isn’t the first of your seeing her, dear!”

“O no —­ she was at our house once.  I’ve seen her before, but that was a great while ago.  I didn’t know her again at first.”

“Then she remembered you best.”

“O —­” said Winnie, considering, —­ “she has seen Rufus and Winthrop since then.”

“She’s a handsome young lady, don’t you think so?”

“I don’t know —­” said Winnie.

“Ask your brother if he don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“See if he don’t think so.”

“Which brother?”

“Your brother that’s here —­ your brother Winthrop.”

“Does he think she is?”

“Ask him,” repeated Mrs. Nettley.

“I don’t know why I should ask him,” said Winnie turning over uneasily on her couch; —­ “I don’t care if she is or no.”

“Ay, but you might care.”

“I don’t know why,” said Winnie.

“How would you like to have a new sister one of these days? —­ by and by?”

“A sister?”

Mrs. Nettley nodded.

“A sister!” said Winnie.  “How should I have a sister?”

“Why such a thing might be,” said Mrs. Nettley.  “Did you never think of one of your brothers getting married?”

“Winthrop won’t!” said Winnie, —­ “and I don’t care what Rufus does.”

“What makes you think Winthrop won’t?”

“He won’t!” said Winnie with flushing cheeks.

“Wouldn’t you be glad?  You would like anything that would make him happy.”

“Happy!” said Winnie. —­ “Glad! —­ I do wish, Mrs. Nettley, you would go down stairs and leave me alone!”

Mrs. Nettley went away, in some astonishment.  And before her astonishment had cooled off in her own kitchen, down came Winnie, with flushed cheeks still, and watery eyes, and a distressed face, to beg Mrs. Nettley’s forgiveness.  It was granted with her whole heart, and a burden of apologies besides; but Winnie’s face remained a distressed face still.  The chicken, broiled on Mrs. Nettley’s fire, was salted with some tears; and all the simple and careful preparations for Winthrop’s dinner were made more carefully than usual; but when Winthrop came home, his little sister was as far from being herself as ever.