The first thing that struck me was how much prettier Elsie was to look at than Harriet Caw, and, of course, than her sister. I told her so, thinking that she would be pleased. But instead, she faced about at once and laid down her book. "Who is Harriet Caw?" she asked in a kind of icebergy voice, quite differently pitched from her usual. Then I began, pleased as a kitten with a wool ball, to tell her all about it--how Mr. Ablethorpe had come and asked me off for the day from my father, how we had gone and helped at the haymaking. Then I made out a long yarn about finding the little package of rings which Mr. Ablethorpe had taken so carefully away with him. "But they were more yours than his!" cried Elsie suddenly; "you should have brought them here to me. Then we would have found out what they were, and if they had anything to do with the--with Harry Foster. We were the first who found out anything, and now you go off with Mr. Ablethorpe----" "Yes, Elsie," I said, a little taken aback by her tone, "but he seemed to know all about where to look, and he wouldn't tell me anything, though I asked." "No, of course not," said Elsie sharply; "there will be a reward, you may depend. Then he will get it instead of you!" I cried out against this, saying that she was not fair to Mr. Ablethorpe. But at the bottom of my heart I was not a bit sorry. The Hayfork Minister had such a curly head, and people made such a fuss about him--especially the women--that I wasn't a bit sorry to find that Elsie was not of their mind. This gave me some assurance to go on. "Well, and what did you do after that?" she said. And I was all on fire to tell her about the two granddaughters of Caleb Fergusson, who came all the way from London--how we had tea with them, how Mr. Ablethorpe stayed and talked with the one who thought no end of herself--that is to say, with Constantia, while I was compelled to go and keep the other one, Harriet, from getting into mischief. At the very first word Elsie sat up straight in her chair. Then, even though I said nothing (it was no use entering into details) about Harriet Caw's taking my arm, Elsie pinched her lips and turned up her nose. "You would like her awfully!" I said. "She's as nice as can be." "Oh!" was all that Elsie said, and she reached for the knitting which lay within reach. "Very likely!" she added as she adjusted the stitches, some of which had slipped off, owing to my having sat down on it when I first came in. "Yes," I continued, in a kind of quick, fluttering voice--I could hear so much myself--"she comes from London, but she does not put on any airs. _And she does not like me at all!_" "Ah," said Elsie, "and pray how did you find that out?"