"The Whitneys know where she lives. Anna and Helen have been to call upon her." "Then our way is pretty plain. Mind you don't breathe a syllable of this to mortal ear, Johnny. It might defeat our aims. Miss Cattledon, always inquisitive, will question where we have been this morning with her curious eyes; but for once she will not be satisfied." "I should not keep her, Miss Deveen." "Yes you would, Johnny. She is faithful; she suits me very well; and her mother and I were girls together." * * * * * It was a sight to be painted. Helen Whitney standing there in her presentation dress. She looked wonderfully well. It was all white, with a train behind longer than half-a-dozen peacocks' tails, lace and feathers about her hair. The whole lot of us were round her; the young ones had come from the nursery, the servants peeped in at the door; Miss Cattledon had her eye-glass up; Harry danced about the room. "Helen, my dear, I admire all very much except your necklace and bracelets," said Miss Deveen, critically. "They do not match: and do not accord with the dress." The necklace was a row of turquoises, and did not look much: the bracelets were gold, with blue stones in the clasps. The Whitney family did not shine in jewels, and the few diamonds they possessed were on Lady Whitney to-day. "But I had nothing else, Miss Deveen," said Helen, simply. "Mamma said these must do." Miss Deveen took off the string of blue beads as if to examine them, and left in its place the loveliest pearl necklace ever seen. There was a scream of surprise; some of us had only met with such transformations in fairy tales. "And these are the bracelets to match, my dear. Anna, I shall give you the same when your turn for making your curtsey to your queen comes." Anna smiled faintly as she looked her thanks. She always seemed regularly down in spirits now, not to be raised by pearl necklaces. For the first time her sad countenance seemed to strike Tod. He crossed over. "What is wrong, Anna?" he whispered. "Are you not well?" "Quite well, thank you," she answered, her cheeks flushing painfully. At this moment Sophie Chalk created a diversion. Unable to restrain her feelings longer, she burst into tears, knelt down outside Helen's dress, and began kissing her hand and the pearl bracelet in a transport of joy. "Oh, Helen, my dear friend, how rejoiced I am? I said upstairs that your ornaments were not worthy of you." Tod's eyes were glued on her. Bill Whitney called out Bravo. Sophie, kneeling before Helen in her furbelows, made a charming tableau. "It is good acting, Tod," I said in his ear. He turned sharply. But instead of cuffing me into next week, he just sent his eyes straight out to mine. "Do you call it acting?" "I am sure it is. But not for you." "You are bold, Mr. Johnny." But I could tell by the subdued tone and the subdued manner, that his own doubts had been at last awakened whether or not it _was_ acting.