“How pure and true it looks!” she mused. Those large clear hazel eyes, with their black lashes, and delicately-pencilled dark eyebrows, the refined features, and rose-leaf skin, crowned by the rebellious fair hair which, in spite of all Marielle’s efforts, persisted in standing out round her shapely head, like a veritable golden halo—all these made up a picture which, once seen, was not likely to pass out of mind. And the girl herself, with her tall, dainty figure, was as good and true as her face indicated. Little wonder then that Mrs. Heritage thanked God every day on her knees for the precious gift of her daughter. Her flowers all disposed of into the various vases, Marielle slipped away to wash her hands, and to give a few directions concerning afternoon tea. Ann was to be sure to put the pretty new cloth worked by Marielle’s busy fingers on the table, and Mysie must not forget to send up some of her delicious hot scones, and the shortbread which she was famous for making. Mysie, who nearly worshipped the young girl she had known from a baby, promised to do her best, and Marielle ran upstairs to remove the flower-stains from her fingers, humming as she went the air of a favourite song. In the meantime the elder ladies, left alone, found themselves rapidly progressing towards intimacy. They had many tastes in common as they soon discovered, and each had known a great sorrow in the loss of one very dear to them. We know that in the one case, viz., that of Mrs. Heritage, it was the husband who had been taken away, while in that of Mrs. Duncan, it was the daughter. It was not long before the conversation turned upon Marielle’s singing, and her mother’s face flushed with pleasure at the warm tribute of praise bestowed upon the girl by her new acquaintance. Mrs. Duncan was proceeding to enlarge upon the pleasure it had given them all to hear her, when she was interrupted by the girl herself, and shortly after, the tea made its appearance. The hot scones and shortbread were duly discussed by the three ladies in a manner that made old Mysie beam again when told of it by Marielle. After extracting a promise from Mrs. Heritage and her daughter to the effect that they would soon come and see her, Mrs. Duncan took her departure. But all the way home she seemed to be haunted by the fair face, clear hazel eyes, and ringing laugh of Marielle Heritage. “I like Mrs. Duncan, mother, don’t you?” asked the girl after their visitor had gone. “Very much, darling, as far as I can tell at present,” replied Mrs. Heritage, fondly regarding her daughter as she ensconced herself upon a footstool at her feet, and prepared for a cosy talk in the firelight. “She has known trouble too, poor thing, she lost her only daughter two years ago.” “Oh, did she, mumsie? How sorry I am! Perhaps that is what makes her look so sad at times.” For Marielle had noticed the wistful look that had crept over Mrs. Duncan’s face when regarding herself.