Barbara was opposite to Mrs. Evelyn, and next to Sydney, a girl a few months older than herself, but considerably taller and larger.  Mother and daughter were a good deal alike, save that the girl was fresh plump, and rosy, and the mother worn, with the red colouring burnt as it were into her thin cheeks.  Yet both looked as if smiles were no strangers to their lips, though there were lines of anxiety and sorrow traced round Mrs. Evelyn’s temples.  Their voices were sweet and full, and the elder lady spoke with a tender intonation that inspired Babie with trustful content and affection, but caused Janet to pass a mental verdict of “Sugared milk and water.”

She immersed herself in her Pall Mall, and left Babie to exchange scraps of intelligence from the brother’s letters, and compare notes on the journey.

By-and-by Mrs. Evelyn retired into her book, and the two little girls put their heads together over a newly-arrived acrostic, calling on Elfie to assist them.

“Do you like acrostics?” she said, peeping up through her long eyelashes at the old general.

“Oh, don’t tease Uncle James,” hastily interposed Sydney, as yet inexperienced in the difference between the importunities of a merely nice-looking niece, and the blandishments of a brilliant stranger.  Sir James said kindly—-

“What, my dear?”

And when Elvira replied—-

“Do help us to guess this.  What does man love most below?” he put on a droll face, and answered—-

“His pipe.”

“O Uncle James, that’s too bad,” cried Sydney.

“If Jock had made this acrostic, it might be pipe,” said Babie; “but this is Armine’s.”

It was thereupon handed to the elders, who read, in a boyish hand-writing—-

Twins, parted from their rocky nest,
We run our wondrous race,
And now in tumult, now at rest,
Flash back heaven’s radiant face.

1.  While both alike this name we bear,
And both like life we flow,
2.  And near us nestle sweet and fair
What man most loves below.

Alike it is our boasted claim
To nurse the precious juice
3.  That maddened erst the Theban dame,
With streaming tresses loose.

4.  The evening land is sought by one,
One rushes towards midday,
One to a vigil song has run,
One heard Red Freedom’s lay.

Tall castles, glorious battlefields
Graced this in ages past,
But now its mighty power that yields
5.  To work my busy last.

“Is that your brother Armine’s own?” asked Sir James, surprised.

“O yes,” said Janet with impressive carelessness, “all my brothers have a facility in stringing rhymes.”

“Not Bobus,” said Elvira.

“He does not think it worth while,” said Janet, again absorbing herself in her paper, while the public united in guessing the acrostic; and the only objection was raised by the exact General, who would not allow that the “Marseillaise” was sung at the mouth of the Rhone, and defended Ino’s sobriety.