Jennie rang the bell, ordering James, when he answered it, rather imperiously, to take her father’s coat and to bring his slippers, bustling about uneasily, and overturning a light stand near her in her haste.
“Softly, Jennie daughter; not so much noise,” chided her papa, rubbing his hands before the blaze, as if he were glad to be at home again. Gently as the words were spoken, they brought tears to the eyes of the sensitive child, and she drew back with a shadow fallen upon her gladness.
With shy ecstasy Rosie was rubbing her brown face against her papa, much as pussy might have done; and Lillie performed a joyful dance with Tan, who had waked up with the commotion, holding him by the fore-paws, and endangering the costly vases by her romping. Frank was pouring out a history of the day with great glee, standing first upon one foot, then upon the other, winding up with:
“And Ben brought Miss Lane from the cars at half past four. We have not seen her yet. But papa—”
He stopped. There she was.
“How do you do, Mr. Graham? How do you do, children?” said a sweet voice, and they all, including Tan, became as mute as mice.
James came with candles, and then the examination began. Miss Lane was not old, neither was she very young; she was almost as small and slight as Jennie, and not at all pretty, as Frank declared more than once, though he liked to look at her face too.
She was dressed neatly and well; her collar shone, her hair shone, her teeth shone, her hands were almost lily white, and her step as light as the snow-fall out of doors. She had a quiet sort of grace that was very fascinating, and from the crown of her head to the sole of her small walking-shoe, stood before them the perfect lady.