Perhaps Mrs. Mackenzie had never become entirely reconciled to the fact that Euphrasia had failed to take after herself. Kenred, the only boy, was good-looking enough to satisfy her desires: and Flo she was wont to describe as "a perfect picture" of her earlier self. Some people demurred privately, counting the "picture" far more attractive than the original. But, "poor dear Euphrasia had nothing to boast of in the way of looks," and this constituted one of Mrs. Mackenzie's many trials in life. The elder girl was commonly said to be more her father's than her mother's child. She had inherited much of his Scotch reserve, of his Scotch slowness in giving expression to the deeper feelings, but she had not inherited his placid temper. At times, under pressure, she could be stirred into vehement speech. When not so stirred, she was apt to veil her true self under a crustiness of demeanour, which repelled some people and perplexed others. It certainly stood in marked contrast with Flo's sweet and winning ways. Almost everybody liked Flo best, and wondered how it was that the elder girl should be so different. Perhaps Mr. Mackenzie alone in the house, and Mrs. Landor alone out of the house, guessed the real worth of character which lay undeveloped beneath this outer crustiness. "Is father ill?" exclaimed Flo. She came to his side and put her little hand on him caressingly. "We met Mr. Everett, and he said he had been bringing father home." "A little out of sorts, my dear. Just a headache," interrupted Mr. Mackenzie. "Colin, you never told me that! Why, I saw you come in alone!" "My dear, there was no cause for a fuss. Everett gave me his arm part of the way." Mr. Mackenzie did not find it needful to state how large a part of the way. He was rather annoyed at this unexpected rencontre of the young clerk with his two girls, and vexed with himself for not having warned Everett to keep silence. But somehow he had felt so confused as to be unable to think steadily. "It was just nothing," he reiterated,—"just a headache. I'll be all right to-morrow." "But, daddy, he said—" "Flo, do hold your tongue. You are bothering father," Euphrasia said sharply. And Flo's sweet face flushed up, the blue eyes filling, like veronica blossoms full of dew. "Really, Euphrasia!—You do scold that poor darling!" remonstrated Mrs. Mackenzie. "Nay, nay; nobody is going to scold anybody," interposed her husband, always the family peacemaker. "My dear, I don't think we will have a discussion just now. I am not just up to the mark. I wonder if you could get me a nice cup of strong coffee. Somehow I think it would do me good; and nobody makes it like you, Mary." "Why, nobody's likely to. I learnt it from a Frenchwoman," said Mrs. Mackenzie, much flattered. She went off, and Colin Mackenzie used the opportunity for a strict injunction. Nobody was to say anything that would make the little mother anxious.