"Don't be silly, my dear," said the young lady, standing up and smiling good-naturedly. "There, finish your letter with just your love; that will be the best way."
And so Nan went back to the little table, brushing away those first tears, and quietly obeyed her cousin. Miss Rolf took the letter from her as soon as it was finished, and went out of the room, while Nan sat still, wondering if Beverley would be quite all she hoped for.
Enough excitement remained to make it easy for Phyllis to control her as she wished, and that young lady trusted to time and absence working wonders. While Nan was sitting absorbed in her thoughts, the door opened, and Lance Rolf came suddenly into the room. He was a tall boy, with a spare, handsome face, delicate as Phyllis's in feature, but olive-tinted, and with more sweetness in the brown eyes and the hues of the mouth. He came up to Nan, holding out his hand with a pleasant smile.
"And are you Nan?" he said, looking at her earnestly.
"Yes," was Nan's timid answer.
"Well," said the boy, cheerfully, "we are cousins. My name is Lancelot Rolf. I hope we'll be very well acquainted. So you are going to Beverley."
"Yes," was all Nan could contrive to say again. She longed to ask a dozen questions of the bright, cheerful-looking boy, who, although no older than Philip, looked so very much like a little gentleman.
"Shall you like to go?" Lance said, presently.
Nan really felt she couldn't go on saying "yes" to everything, and so with a great effort she said:
"I want to go very much. Is it—is it nice there?"