“O, Phil’s always well,—I wish I were!” Cathalina looked mournfully and pityingly in the mirror, where she saw a pretty, delicate face with shadowy, dark blue eyes. A tear threatened to splash over as Cathalina thought what a dull, disagreeable world it was. A miserable piano lesson at ten o’clock, and she supposed she’d have to practice a while before; a party the next day, or was it this afternoon?—and the girls would be offended if she did not go. Always the same old thing anyhow! Etta quietly took the blue silk kimono that Cathalina had slipped off and brought in exchange a dainty morning dress of fine, sheer lawn. Cathalina’s bedroom was a beautiful setting for the fair little maid of fourteen years. When the new home was being finished a year before, Cathalina herself, with some direction from her mother, had chosen the blue, white and silver decorations and selected the furnishings. What pride she had taken at first in the delicate effects, the simple, though expensive, fittings. But she was tired of it all now. As Etta fastened the dress, Cathalina said, with the shy little smile that she always had when she spoke intimately, “I was so cross, Etta, this morning when you brought up my breakfast,—please forgive me!” “O, Miss Cathie,—if you call that cross! What would you think if you heard what I’ve had to put up with?” “Better not tell me, Etta,” replied Cathalina, who had been taught not to encourage tales of former service. “I might get hints on how to manage you,” she added, with a laugh. “How loose this dress is getting! Just pin over the girdle a little—or get me that other sash that matches, please.” Then both girls turned to listen to sounds of commotion down stairs. “What is that? Hurry, Etta,—I do believe it’s Phil! Yes, I hear his voice!” Gone was Cathalina’s languor. She ran to the door, stood a moment by the bannister, looking over, then flew down the broad stairs as fast as a pair of twinkling feet could carry her. “O, Phil!” “Hullo, Kathleen Mavourneen!” And a tall, slim youngster who stood in the hall turned and caught the flying figure on the last stair. He gave her a whirl and then held her off after a brotherly hug. “Why, what’s the matter with you, kitten” for Cathalina was sobbing a little. “I don’t know—just so glad to see you—I cry at everything lately.” “Well, come now!” Philip boyishly patted her shoulder. “Come on, let’s find Mothery. O, _Mother_!” “Is that my boy?” Another graceful figure came down stairs, not quite so fast, but with face eager and smiling. Philip embraced his mother and tipped up her chin that he might get a good look, with “How’s Madam Sylvia Van Ness Van Buskirk?” “Beautiful as a dream,” answered Cathalina, who had recovered from her tears and was almost feeling frisky, inspired by Philip’s arrival. “She actually blushes!” laughed Philip. “Now if it were Dad! Still the same pair of lovers, Mothery?”