"Where is Elsie?" cried the widow, with vivacious affection, shaking her gay plumage like a canary bird in the sun.
"In her own room," replied Elizabeth. "Pray walk in, and I will call her."
"Oh, never mind, I'll go!" said Mrs. Harrington. "Gentlemen, I leave you with Mrs. Mellen; but no flirtation, remember that!"
She fluttered, laughed a little, and shook her finger at the very young man, who said "Aw!" while North seemed absorbed in the scenery. Then away she flew, kissing her hand to them, and leaving Elizabeth to gather up her weary thoughts and make an effort at entertaining these unwelcome guests.
Mrs. Harrington found Elsie yawning over a new novel, and quite prepared to be enlivened by the prospect of company.
"But I can't go down such a figure," she said; "just wait a minute. One gets so careless in a house without gentlemen."
"Poor dear! I am sure you are moped."
"Oh, to death. It's dreadful!" sighed Elsie. "I feel things so acutely. If I only had a little of Bessie's stoicism!"
"Yes, it's all very well; but you are made up of feeling," said the widow. "Change your dress, dear. Oh, you've made a conquest of a certain gentleman."
"What, that Hawkins! He's a fearful idiot!" cried Elsie. "But he'll do, for want of a better."