"What a charming picture," cried the young lady. "This, I know, is Miss Rothermel--and which are my little cousins?--ah, this must be Jay--he is your image, Mr. Andrews," and she flew upon him with kisses, while the mother, singling out a stout, little girl, with a pigtail, not unlike him in feature, embraced her as Gabrielle. While this mistake was being rectified, and the correct Gabrielle being presented to her cousins, Missy recovered herself enough to turn to Mr. Andrews and tell him she did not think he was coming home that night. "The telegram wasn't received then? I sent it at ten o'clock this morning." No, no telegram had been received. The waitress was standing by, the picture of consternation, and corroborated the statement incoherently. Missy then explained as well as she could, her presence in the house, but nobody seemed to listen to her; the ladies were so engrossed with caressing the children, they did not heed. Mr. Andrews himself seemed not at all to be interested in any fact but that the children were having a good time, and that to balance it was the companion fact that there was no dinner ready. The cook was looking through the kitchen door, which was ajar, with a bewildered face. The birthday cake and the bonbons were a mockery, no doubt, to the hungry travelers. Missy wished the cake and the travelers in the Red Sea together. "How charming," said Miss Eustace, rising from her knees before Jay, and looking at the table. "How charming it is, and how good of you, Miss Rothermel. Mamma, is she not good? Think of giving up all that time for a little child who never can repay you!" "Miss Rothermel is unselfish," said the mother, releasing Gabby from a final embrace. "Jay ought to love her very much. Jay, you do, I know. Tell Miss Rothermel you love her." "And thank her for the party," cried the daughter, stooping over him with irrepressible fondness, again. "I won't," said Jay, stoutly, pulling himself away. "It's none of you's business." "Jay!" cried his father. But Missy moved forward, as if to protect him, and said, "He only means that he and I can settle our accounts together. Can't we, Jay?" Jay did not answer otherwise than by clutching at her gown and scowling back at the honeyed cousins. How sweet it was, that little fist tight in her dress; Missy felt it almost made up for the whole affair, and gave her resolution to make another and more definite apology for being there. "I am sure," cried Miss Eustace, "you are unselfish, indeed. There isn't one young woman in a hundred would have done it; taking all that trouble, and coming over here by yourself,--without a lady in the house, I mean, you know, and all that--and not minding about us, and not standing on conventionalities, and such tiresome things. Oh, Miss Rothermel, I am sure we shall be friends. I _hate_ proprieties, and I love to do what comes into my head. I am so bored with the restrictions that mamma is insisting on forever."