In the drawing-room we found a grey-haired curate, with a mild voice; Miss Cattledon was simpering and smiling upon him. I gathered that he did duty in the church hard by, and had come to dinner by invitation. He took in Miss Deveen, and that other blessed lady fell to me. It was a very good dinner, uncommonly good to me after my journey. Miss Deveen carved. And didn't she make me eat! She said she knew what boys' appetites were. The curate took his leave, but Miss Deveen sat on; she fancied to have heard that the Whitneys were to have friends to dinner that night, and would not go in too early. About half-a-dozen houses lay between, and Miss Deveen put a shawl over her head and walked the distance. "Such a mistake, to have taken a place for them so near Hyde Park!" whispered Miss Cattledon as we were following--and I'm sure she must have been in a gracious mood to give me the confidence. "Neither Sir John nor Miss Deveen has much notion of the requirements of fashionable society, Mr. Ludlow: as to poor Lady Whitney, she is a very owl in all that relates to it." Poor Lady Whitney--not looking like an owl, but a plain, good-hearted English mother--was the first to see us. There was no dinner-party after all. She sat on a chair just inside the drawing-room, which was precisely the same in build and size as Miss Deveen's, but had not her handsome furniture and appointments. She said she was glad to see me, and would have invited me with Joe, but for want of beds. They were all grouped at the other end of the room, playing at forfeits, and a great deal too busy to notice me. I had leisure to look at them. Helen was talking very fast: Harry shouting; Anna sat leaning her cheek on her hand; Tod stood frowning and angry against the wall; the young ones were jumping about like savages; and Bill Whitney was stuck on a stool, his eyes bandaged, and the tips of a girl's white fingers touching his hands. A fairy, rather than a girl, for that's what she looked like, with her small, light figure and her gauze skirts floating: Miss Sophie Chalk. But what on earth had come to her hair? It used to be brown; it was now light, and gleaming with gold spangles. Perhaps it belonged to her fairy nature. Suddenly Bill shouted out "Miss Chalk," threw off the bandage, and caught her hands to kiss her! It was all in the forfeits: he had a right to do it, because he guessed her name. She laughed and struggled, the children and Helen were as wild Indians with glee, and Tod looked ready to bring the roof down. Just as Bill gave the kiss, Anna saw me. Of course it created an interlude, and the forfeits were thrown up. Tod came out of his passion, feeling a little frightened. "Johnny! Why, what in the world brings you here? Anything wrong with my father?" "I am only come up on a visit to Miss Deveen, Tod." "Well, I'm sure!" cried Tod; as if he thought he ought to have all the visiting, and I none of it.