Bessie never passed a pleasanter morning; her tale enthralled her, but she laid down her book occasionally to notice her dumb companions. A white Persian kitten had joined the group; she was evidently accustomed to the dogs, for she let Tim roll her over in his rough play, and only boxed his ears in return, now and then. When he got too excited, she scrambled up a may-tree, and sat licking herself in placid triumph, while the terriers barked below. Bessie was almost sorry when the quiet was invaded by Edna. Edna, who never opened a book, by her own confession, unless it were an exciting novel, looked a little disdainfully at the book Bessie had chosen. "Oh, that old thing!" she said contemptuously; "that is not much of a story; it is about a Breton peasant, is it not? Reine, I think she was called. Oh, it was amusing enough, but I prefer something more thrilling." "I think it lovely," returned Bessie. "It is all so sweet and sunshiny; one can smell the flowers in that studio, and the two Catherines, one so happy and charming, and the other so pathetic. All the people are so nice and good, they seem alive somehow. In other books there are wicked people, and that troubles me." "You would not like the sort of books I read;" returned Edna, shrugging her shoulders. "There was a murder in the last; I could hardly sleep after it--some one thrown out of a train. Oh, it was deliciously horrible! I have not sent it back to Mudie; you can read it if you like." "No, thank you," returned Bessie quietly; "it would not suit me at all. Father is very particular about what we read, and mother, too; he will not let us touch what he calls 'the sensational literature of the day'--oh, you may laugh," as Edna looked amused; "but I think father is right. He says it makes him quite unhappy to see books of this description in the hands of mere children. He is a doctor, you know, and he declares that a great deal of harm is done by overstimulating the imagination by highly wrought fiction. 'A meal of horrors can nourish no one,' he would say." Edna chose to dispute this point, and a long and lively argument ensued between the girls until the luncheon bell silenced them. Richard did not appear at this meal; he was taking his bread and cheese under the hedge with the haymakers, Edna explained, or in other words, he had desired his luncheon to be sent to him. "He does not favor us much with his company, as you will soon see for yourself, Miss Lambert. My stepson is not a society man," observed Mrs. Sefton. "So much the better," was on Bessie's lips, but she prudently refrained from speaking the words. She was beginning to wonder, however, if Mrs. Sefton or Edna could mention his name without adding something disparaging. Edna especially was forever indulging in some light sarcasm at her brother's expense.