To the investigating glances Armstrong threw toward her corner from time to time, there was presented the singular spectacle of the girl who had, but a few minutes before, been blushing under his words of admiration, seeming wholly content with the exchange of another man's company for his own; even although she must have realized that an interview had been interrupted which promised to be an important one. Important to the lady, Sir Egoist? Mark her now, leaning back against the red silk cushions, as Beesly bends eagerly forward in the full swing of some fine narrative; the dimpling smile showing a glimpse of even, milk-white teeth behind a bud of a mouth, dewily innocent as a baby's. The light in the wily fellow's eyes is reflected in her hazel ones as she catches the point of his sketch, and now she hides her lovely face against her grandmother's ample bosom, in an outburst of mirth so rare with her as to seem almost indecorous. Has it ever been your good fortune, Miles Armstrong, to arouse so hearty an interest and sway so readily that timid nature? She has certainly forgotten you, and the serious business of life you are so fond of discoursing with her, in the glow of feelings natural to youth and feminine love of enjoyment. Armstrong's face grew gloomy, and his conversation absent-minded, while Mistress Amanda, taking note of everything, was led to speculate on a set of possibilities that had never before suggested themselves to her astute intellect. Was it possible that the law of contrasts, leading the fancies of men and maidens to attach themselves to the persons most dissimilar, could apply to her daughter Nellie, for whom she had been anticipating a very different inclination! Girls were capable of such freaks. After all, if it were not for Peter Weaver, the idea of Beesly as a permanent member of the family would not be so unwelcome. His shrewd sense and light views formed a very good balance to the over-seriousness of the young girl. Mingled with a pang for her silent and devoted hero, Mistress Amanda felt a certain satisfaction in this introduction of a new player into her little domestic drama. She became more affable with the young preacher. These two had never yet been able to strike upon a single topic of mutual interest where the clash of disagreement did not instantly lead to silence. "Let us harmonize upon the weather," Mistress Amanda had once observed when argument had threatened to become personal. But one cannot always talk about the weather. She tried apples. "Is your father shipping his usual quantity of golden pippins to England this fall? I hear that he has had the honor of furnishing some to the queen's own table; that her preference is for pippins." "Three thousand barrels, I believe," said Armstrong, in a lukewarm response.