Upon asking for Mary, she was taken immediately to her room, where she found her reclining upon a sofa, attired in a tasteful crimson morning gown, which gave a delicate tint to her cheeks. She was paler than usual, and her thick shining hair was combed up from her forehead in a manner highly becoming to her style of beauty. Until that day Ella had never heard her sister called handsome--never even thought such a thing possible; but now, as she looked upon her, she acknowledged to herself that Henry was more than half right, and she felt a pang of jealousy,--a fear that Mary might prove her rival. Still she tried to be agreeable, telling her how fortunate she was in being at Mr. Selden's, "for," said she, "I dare say some of our first people will notice you just because you are here!" Ida hastily walked to the window, standing with her back towards Ella, who continued. "I think it's so funny. I've inquired and inquired about Mr. Stuart, but no one knows him, and I've come to the conclusion he was an impostor,--or a country schoolmaster, one or the other." There was a suppressed laugh behind the lace curtain where Ida stood, and when Mary began to defend Mr. Stuart, she came out, and with great apparent interest asked who he was, and where they had seen him. Afterwards Mary remembered the mischief which shone in Ida's eyes as they described Mr. Stuart, but she thought nothing of it then. After asking Mary who paid for her music lessons,--how many new dresses she'd got, and who cut them, Ella started to go, carelessly saying as she left the room, that when Mary was able she should expect to see her at Mrs. Campbell's. In the mean time Henry had become so much engaged in a conversation with Mr. Selden, that he forgot the lapse of time until he heard Ella coming down the stairs. Then impelled by a mean curiosity to see what she would do, he sat still, affecting not to notice her. She heard his voice, and knew that he was still in the parlor. So for a long time she lingered at the outer door, talking very loudly to Ida, and finally, when there was no longer any excuse for tarrying, she suddenly turned back, and shaking out her cloak and tippet, exclaimed, "Why, where can my other glove be? I must have dropped it in the parlor, for I do not remember of having had it up stairs!" The parlor was of course entered and searched, and though no missing glove was found, the company of Henry Lincoln was thus secured. Have my readers never seen a Henry Lincoln, or an Ella Campbell? CHAPTER XXIV. A CHANGE OF OPINION. "Oh, mother won't you take this pillow from my head, and put another blanket on my feet, and fix the fire, and give me some water, or something? Oh, dear, dear!--" groaned poor Rose Lincoln, as with aching head and lungs, she did penance for her imprudence in crossing the wet, slippery street in thin slippers and silken hose.