"Why, because I am an imp, a wretch, and always was—and always will be, for that matter. I believe I was made to keep the world alive. Why, everybody in St. Mark's would be dead of the blues if it weren't for me."
"Yes; I have heard of some of your wild antics. That good old lady, Mrs. Gower, was with me last night, and we had quite a long conversation about you, I assure you."
"Poor dear aunty, she's at her wits' end, sometimes, to know what to do with me. And, by that same token, here she comes. Speak of somebody, and he'll appear, you know."
Mrs. Gower opened the door, flushed and palpitating with her walk up-stairs. Poor Mrs. Gower was "waxing fat" with years; and it was no easy task for her to toil her way up the long staircase of Sunset Hall.
"Oh, Gipsy, my dear!" she exclaimed, all in a glow of pleasurable excitement, "guess who's come!"
"Who, who?" cried Gipsy, eagerly.
"Archie!"
Up sprang Gipsy, flew past Mrs. Gower, and was down the stairs in a twinkling.
"Archie! who the deuce is he?" thought the young midshipman, with a jealous twinge.
"You seem to have brought Miss Gower pleasant news," he remarked, by way of drawing her out, after he had answered her inquiries about his health.