Phil thought her perfectly charming as she walked restlessly up and down the platform, waiting for the first sound which should herald the approaching train. It came at last—a low whistle in the distance, growing gradually louder and shriller, until the train shot under the bridge, and the great engine puffed and groaned a moment before the station, and then went on its way, leaving two distinct groups of people to be stared at by the lookers-on. One, the Rossiters and a middle-aged man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, with eye glasses on his nose and a little slender cane in his hand, which he twisted nervously, while, with the other members of his party, he looked curiously at the second group farther down the platform—the three French ladies, who spoke their native tongue so volubly, and were so demonstrative and expressive in their gestures and tones. Mrs. La Rue was in black, with a strange expression on her face and in her eyes, as she watched the two young girls. The moment Margery alighted, Reinette had precipitated herself into her arms, exclaiming: “You dear old Margie! you have come at last;” while kiss after kiss was showered upon the girl, whose golden hair gleamed brightly in the sunlight, and whose blue eyes were full of tears as she returned the greeting. Suddenly remembering Mrs. La Rue, Queenie turned toward her, and, offering her hand very cordially, utterly ignored the fact that she had ever seen her before by saying: “I think you are Mrs. La Rue, and I am happy to meet you, because you bring me Margie.” “Thanks. You are very kind,” Mrs. La Rue replied, with a tone which a stranger might have thought cold and constrained but for the face, which had something eager and almost hungry in its expression, as the great black eyes were riveted upon Queenie whose hand the woman held in a tight clasp until it was wrenched away, as the girl turned next to the Rossiters. “Wait, Margie,” she said, in passing. “Our carriage is here, and I am going to take you to your new home.” Then hurrying on she went up to her aunt, and cousins, and the major, who had been watching her curiously, and mentally commenting upon her. “Quite too much sentiment and gush for me. I like more manner; more dignity,” he thought, while Mrs. Rossiter saw only her sister’s child, and Ethel and Grace felt a little disappointed with regard to the beauty, of which they had heard so much.