“Oh, Pauline, is it you?  I am very glad to see you.”

“Don’t say that for politeness’ sake!  Here I have been for ten days and you have not stirred a foot to see me.”

“I didn’t know you were in town till this morning, and just as you came I was putting on my bonnet to go and see you.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes; positively I am.”

“Well, I am glad you felt disposed to see me.  After my uncle, you and Charon are all I cared anything about meeting here.  Bless your dear, solemn, gray eyes! how often I have wanted to see you!”

The impulsive girl threw her arms round Beulah’s neck, and kissed her repeatedly.

“Be quiet, and let me look at you.  Oh, Pauline, how beautiful you have grown!” cried Beulah, who could not forbear expressing the admiration she felt.

“Yes; the artists in Florence raved considerably about ray beauty.  I can’t tell you the number of times I sat for my portrait.  It is very pleasant to be pretty; I enjoy it amazingly,” said she, with all the candor which had characterized her in childhood; and, with a vigorous squeeze of Beulah’s hand, she continued: 

“I was astonished when I came, and found that you had left Uncle Guy, and were teaching little ragged, dirty children their A B C’s.  What possessed you to do such a silly thing?”

“Duty, my dear Pauline.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, don’t begin about duty.  Ernest—­” She paused, a rich glow swept over her face, and, shaking back her curls, she added: 

“You must quit all this.  I say you must!”

“I see you are quite as reckless and scatter-brained as ever,” answered Beulah, smiling at her authoritative tone.

“No; I positively am not the fool Uncle Guy used to think me.  I have more sense than people give me credit for, though I dare say I shall find you very skeptical on the subject.  Beulah, I know very well why you took it into your wise head to be a teacher.  You were unwilling to usurp what you considered my place in Uncle Guy’s home and heart.  You need not straighten yourself in that ungraceful way.  I know perfectly well it is the truth; but I am no poor, suffering, needy innocent, that you should look after.  I am well provided for, and don’t intend to take one cent of Uncle Guy’s money, so you might just as well have the benefit of it.  I know, too, that you and ma did not exactly adore each other.  I understand all about that old skirmishing.  But things have changed very much, Beulah; so you must quit this horrid nonsense about working and being independent.”

“How you do rattle on about things you don’t comprehend!” laughed Beulah.

“Come, don’t set me down for a simpleton!  I tell you I am in earnest!  You must come back to Uncle Guy!”

“Pauline, it is worse than useless to talk of this matter.  I decided long ago as to what I ought to do, and certainly shall not change my opinion now.  Tell me what you saw in Europe.”