Now, it must not be supposed that it was at all pleasant for Mabel to wear the dresses she positively hated. But she undoubtedly assumed a rather more haughty air, now that her cousins had donned their pretty spring dresses, lest anyone should dare to think of her as a "poor relation." And this had helped her aunt to form the theory that she was simply doing it to vex and annoy them. It would, no doubt, have comforted Mabel to have known what her aunt thought about it, and she would have been even more haughty. But as it was, the moment her uncle began to speak about her not changing her winter attire, she burst into tears, exclaiming: "I cannot, uncle; indeed, I cannot." Mr. Randolph looked surprised, but he was glad to think that the letter he had written was safe in his pocket, instead of on its way to her mother. Isabel, too, looked surprised—surprised at her cousin's words, and still more so at her troubled manner. "Do you mind telling me what you mean by 'you cannot?' I understand you have had some money sent to buy new dresses." "Yes, uncle, but—but I owed the dressmaker all that money," she stammered. "Owed the dressmaker that money!" repeated Mr. Randolph in a puzzled tone. "But how could that be, Mabel?" "Oh, I see, I know," exclaimed Isabel, upon whom the truth had suddenly dawned. "You did not send that dressmaker's bill to your mother, Mabel?" Mabel shook her head. "I couldn't," she said, "after the letter I had from her." "But what dressmaker's bill is it?" asked Mr. Randolph, who was determined to get to the bottom of the business before offering any help. Then together the girls explained how the dress had been bought for the party, Isabel generously taking all the blame when she saw her father was inclined to find fault with Mabel for not consulting somebody before incurring such a heavy debt. "You should have gone to your aunt, my dear," he said, "and asked her about the dress before ordering it." "Oh, but Julia had said her old dress would do, and it wouldn't," said Isabel, determined to defend her cousin. "What do you know about it, Pussy Paleface?" said her father tenderly, drawing her on to his knee and kissing her. "Why, I know you are going to make out a cheque for us to go shopping with to-morrow," said Isabel in a tone of mock solemnity. "I perceive you are a witch, madam, young as you are, or you could not have read my thoughts so accurately." "You dear old dad! I knew you would help Mabel out of her trouble." "Yes, but only for this time, remember. For I don't approve of young girls ordering dresses without consulting older and wiser people. I wonder what your mother would think of this business, Mabel?" he said, turning to her. Mabel's heart was too full for her to speak, for her uncle's last words had lifted such a load of care from her mind. But her tearful, grateful face spoke more eloquently than words.