"Why did they not tell me? It is Cathy's doing, I suppose, to keep you near her, you are great friends I hear; but I am surprised Mr. Clayton allowed it for a moment. You,--excuse me, Miss Marriott, but I cannot get over my surprise,--you look so unlike a school-mistress. Did you ever see your predecessor, Miss Drake?" Queenie shook her head. She felt a little discomposed; the cool scrutiny of the blue eyes did not please her. Dora's searching glance took in every detail--the well-gloved hands, the dainty French tie, the little brown hat with its pheasant's wing, all the finish and detail that marks the gentlewoman's taste. "No, you are not much like Miss Drake," she replied coldly; and a little cloud of dissatisfaction and perplexity knitted her brow. They both seemed relieved when Garth made his appearance with the waggonette. Dora at once went in search of the rest of the party. Miss Faith and Emmie joined them instantly, but Cathy still lingered. "Come, Catherine, come, it is getting late," exclaimed her brother impatiently; "you and Miss Dora have gossiped enough by this time." Cathy gave him a laughing look as she jumped into the waggonette, and ensconced herself cosily by Queenie. "Don't be cross, Garth. No one calls me Catherine but Mr. Logan and Miss Cosie. I have only been mystifying Dora on the subject of our young friend here. She seems 'struck all of a heap'--to use an elegant but most expressive phrase--at the notion of her turning school-mistress. What business of hers is it, I should like to know? Let her mind her own parish." "Hush, Cathy, be quiet; she will hear you," interposed Garth sharply, as he turned round to wave an adieu to the little figure in the porch. Dora stood with her hand shading her eyes, watching them until they were out of sight. She looked still more like a picture framed in roses, her straw hat hanging on her arm, and the sunset shining on her fair hair. Garth turned round more than once, and then he resumed the subject somewhat irritably. "What has Dora got in her head, I should like to know? she looks as if something does not please her. What nonsense have you been talking, Cathy?" "Plaze your honor, no nonsense at all, at all," began Cathy mischievously, but a glance at her brother's side face, which looked unusually grave, sobered her in time. "Garth, don't be such a griffin, or I will never take you out to tea again. Dora chose to cross-examine me as to Miss Marriott's motives in taking so singular a step as becoming our school-mistress, and I thought her curiosity somewhat impertinent, and so took a delight in baffling it." "I think it was you who were impertinent, Cathy," returned Garth, still displeased. "Surely such an old friend as Dora has a right to interest herself in our affairs if she likes."