"How on earth did old Peter get into it like this?" Ross inquired, as he hung his coat to dry by the stove. "I could hardly believe my eyes to see him confabulating with Miss Worthington Square. She seems quite human, does n’t she--when you get her indoors?" "I don’t know," said Nancy. "I only let them in. She looks awfully pretty, don’t you think? And maybe she’s nice when you get to know her." "If you ever do," qualified Ross. "Pretty? Well, all I saw was a gorgeous hat and a pair of big eyes; I felt as if somebody was looking at me with a spy-glass. She is n’t in it with our Janey, if you’re talking about prettiness." "No, of course not!" cried loyal Nancy. By the time the storm had ceased, a good deal of the stiffness in the little front room had melted away. It may be possible for some people to be formal and frigid for the space of a ten-minute call, but to keep it up for full three-quarters of an hour longer, while rain pours, and lightning flashes, and unconventional young persons dash in and out, and a youth like Peter tells jolly stories--that becomes much more difficult. Mrs. Townsend maintained a peculiar dignity to the end, but Olive--well, in spite of her prejudices, Olive was young, and liked young associates, and as she looked and listened, it became more and more difficult for her to refuse to recognise that the people in this little house were not ordinary, not commonplace, not uneducated, as she had fancied them, but bright, and gay, and interesting. When she gave Jane her hand, as she took her leave--the April storm having at last given place again to brilliant April sunshine--she found herself wishing she might know this prepossessing maid. There was a straightforward sweetness in the glance of Jane’s rich hazel eyes, a captivating charm in her free smile, which the other girl had never encountered in quite so beguiling a form. Olive Townsend, of all the girls whom Jane had ever met least likely to succumb to the fascinations of another girl not in her own "set," fell, nevertheless, considerably under Jane’s influence on that very first encounter. In taking leave she said to Jane that which she had not dreamed of saying, commonplace an expression of friendliness as it was: "I shall hope to see you often, since we live so near." "Gone--gone--all gone?" queried Ross, putting in his head cautiously at the living-room door, as the visitors turned the corner. "All gone," replied Peter. "Gone forever--silks and velvets and new spring hats." "Ribbons and laces, and sweet, pretty faces," chanted Ross, reminded of the old child-rhyme. "’Sugar and spice, and everything nice.’ Not much sugar about Miss Worthington Square, eh, Pete?"