Just as they were starting for the homeward walk they were joined by a cousin of the Athertons. Bessie had seen her the previous day. She was a fair, interesting-looking girl, dressed in deep mourning. Her name was Grace Donnerton. Richard seemed to know her well. He had evidently waited for her to overtake them, and they all walked on happily together. Bessie was much taken with her. She was the daughter of a clergyman, who had a large parish in Leeds, and she interested Bessie very much in her account of her own and her sister's work. They had lately lost their mother, and it was surprising to hear of the way in which these young creatures helped their father in his good work. "When any one is ill, we generally help in nursing them," Grace had said, quite simply. "There are so many of us that we can easily be spared, and we are so fond of our poor people. We have all attended ambulance lectures, and Lizzie, that is my eldest sister, is now training for a year at a hospital. She is very strong, and so fond of nursing, and she hopes to be very useful when she comes home. There are five of us, and we take turns in being papa's housekeeper. Emma, who is very clever, manages the mother's meeting, and the rest of us do district work." Bessie was so interested by all this that she was sorry when the walk drew to a close. After they had said good-bye to Miss Donnerton, Bessie said "What a nice girl! I am sure I should like to know more of her." "Yes; I knew she would be your sort; that is why I waited for her," replied Richard, as he opened the gate. Bessie wondered over this speech as she ran up to her room. "My sort! what could he have meant by that?" she said to herself. "I only wish I were like Miss Donnerton, for I am sure she is sweet and good. Well, it has been a lovely day. I have not wished myself at home once. Now I must devote myself to Edna." Edna looked a little tired and bored, and Bessie did not find it easy to interest her. She appeared to be quite indifferent to Miss Donnerton's merits. "Oh, Grace! so you like her, do you? Well, I must confess she is too good for me. I never found her say anything interesting yet, but then I did not talk to her about poor people," and Edna sneered slightly in a ladylike way. "I think all the girls were relieved when she went to church, for we could not get her to talk about anything." Yes, Edna was decidedly impracticable that evening. She would not be induced to play or sing; she was not in the humor for sacred music; no, she did not want to read; and everything was slow and stupid. Bessie coaxed her into the garden at last, and the soft evening air refreshed her in spite of herself. "Don't you ever feel _ennuyée_ and horrid?" she asked, in a sort of apologetic manner, presently.