“She will win all hearts,” he said to himself; “and being quick-witted as well as gentle and refined, she will soon catch the ‘shibboleth’ of our set—the thousand and one almost inscrutable and quite indescribable absurdities— “‘That mark the caste of Vere de Vere.’ “Dear girl! For myself I should only be too glad to introduce her into any society. And as to the old folks putting their heads together and setting their hearts on making a match between me and my Cousin Hermia—that is perfect nonsense! We like each other well enough; but we won’t marry each other. We’d die first!” While Ronald Bruce was ruminating the old commodore was growing impatient for his lunch. “Well, well, Catherine! Well, well, Margaret! what are we waiting for now?” he testily inquired. “Only for Mrs. and Miss Warde,” replied Mrs. Bruce. “These women! These women! They have no idea of the duty of punctuality! Ah! a little training on board a man-o’-war would improve their habits.” As the old man spoke Belinda Warde entered the room, apologizing, and saying: “Mamma is not very well; but she will be down in a few moments, and begs that you will not wait.” “I am sorry to hear that. But take your seats. She will join us presently,” said the commodore. Belinda was now about thirty-five years old, a superb brunette, like her mother, and being well-preserved and well-dressed, she still passed among those who did not know her age as a young lady. She stared for an instant at the little stranger in their midst, until Hermia said: “This is a schoolmate of mine—Miss Palmer—who has come to assist Aunt Bruce.” “Oh!” said the young lady, and took her seat at the table, which was now full but for the vacant chair waiting for Mrs. Warde. The meal progressed, but the absent lady did not make her appearance. A servant was sent up to ask her if she would have refreshments served in her room. An answer was returned declining the offer with thanks, and desiring that the company would excuse her. “Whimsical,” whispered the old commodore confidentially to his own white beard as he finished his “mayonnaise.” The luncheon was an informal meal, and one by one the party around the table dropped off, until no one was left but the commodore, his sister-in-law and Em., who, though she had finished eating, sat there because she was too timid to get up and leave while Mrs. Bruce remained. Finally the three arose together, and Em. was about to hurry up to her needlework when the old commodore arrested her steps by saying: “Stop, my dear; with my sister’s leave here, I want you to read the newspapers for me; the boy brought them from the post-office just before we sat down to lunch and they are not opened yet. Follow me to my study.” Em. stood still in perplexity and looked from the commodore to the lady. “My dear brother, I, Ronald, or, indeed, any of us, will be most happy to be your reader, as we always have been,” said Mrs. Bruce hesitatingly.