"I think my match might be found," said Flora, rather drily. "For one thing, Cary, you must remember I have had nothing to do with other girls except Annas Keith. Father and Angus have been my only companions; and a girl who has neither mother nor sisters perhaps gets out of girls' ways in some respects." "But you are not the only `womankind,' as Father calls it, in the house?" said I. "Oh, no, there is Helen Raeburn," answered Flora: "but she is an old woman, and she is not in my station. She would not teach me girls' ways." "Then who taught you manners, Flora?" "Oh, Father saw to all that Helen could not," she said. "Helen could teach me common decencies, of course; such as not to eat with my fingers, and to shake hands, and so forth: but the little niceties of ladylike behaviour that were beyond her--Father saw to those." "Well, I think you have very pleasant manners, Flora. I only wish you were not quite so grave." "Thank you for the compliment, Miss Caroline Courtenay," said Flora, dropping me a courtesy. "I would rather be too grave than too giddy." That very afternoon, Cecilia Osborne asked me to walk up the Scar with her. Somehow, when she asks you to do a thing, you feel as if you must do it. I do not like that sort of enchanted feeling at all. However, I fetched my hood and scarf, and away we went. We climbed up the Scar without much talk--in fact, it is rather too steep for that: but when we got to the top, Cecilia proposed to sit down on the bank. It was a beautiful day, and quite warm for the time of the year. So down we sat, and Cecilia pulled her sacque carefully on one side, that it should not get spoiled--she was very charmingly dressed in a sacque of purple lutestring, with such a pretty bonnet, of red velvet with a gold pompoon in front--and then she began to talk, as if she had come for that, and I believe she had. It was not long before I felt pretty sure that she had brought me there to pump me. "How long have you known Miss Drummond?" she began. "Well, all my life, in a fashion," I said; "but it is nearly ten years since we met." "Ten years is a good deal of your life, is it not?" said Cecilia, darting at me one of those side-glances from her tawny eyes. I tried to do it last night, and made my eyes feel so queer that I was not sure they would get right by morning. "Well, I suppose it is," said I; "I am not quite seventeen yet." "You dear little thing!" said Cecilia, imprisoning my hand. "What is Miss Drummond's father?" "A minister," said I. "A Scotch Presbyterian, I suppose?" she said, turning up her nose. I did not think she looked any prettier for it. "Well," said I, "I suppose he is." "And Mr Angus--what do they mean to make of him, do you know?" "Flora hopes he will be a minister too. His father wishes it; but she is not sure that Angus likes the notion himself." "Dear me! I should think not," said Cecilia, "He is fit for something far better."