“Like Sara!” said Jack, and he nodded his head with a little brotherly contempt. “Don’t be any thing different from what you are, please. I should like people to wear always the same dress, and keep exactly as they were when--the first time, you know. I like you, for instance, in your red cloak. I never see a red cloak without thinking of you. I hope you will keep that one forever and ever,” said the philosophical youth. As for Pamela, she could not but feel a little confused, wondering whether this, or Sara’s description of her brother, was the reality. And she should not have known what to answer but that the bell at the house interfered in her behalf, and began to send forth its touching call--a sound which could not be gainsayed. “There is the bell,” she cried; “you will be too late for dinner. Oh, please don’t come any farther. There is old Betty looking out.” “Bother dinner,” said Mr. John, “and old Betty too,” he added, under his breath. He had taken her hand, the same hand which Sara had been holding, to bid her good-bye, no doubt in the ordinary way. At all events, old Betty’s vicinity made the farewell all that politeness required. But he did not leave her until he had opened the gate for her, and watched her enter at her own door. “When my sister leaves Miss Preston in the avenue,” he said, turning gravely to Betty, with that severe propriety for which he was distinguished, “be sure you always see her safely home; she is too young to walk about alone.” And with these dignified words Mr. John walked on, having seen the last of her, leaving Betty speechless with amazement. “As if I done it!” Betty said. And then he went home to dinner. Thus both Mr. Brownlow’s children, though he did not know it, had begun to make little speculations for themselves in undiscovered ways. CHAPTER XVII. A CATASTROPHE.