The children, as they were called in the Terrace, came home just in time for tea. Mr. Trevor had changed the course of his existence for some time past. He who all his life had dined at two, and had tea at six, and “a little something” in the shape of supper before he went to bed, had entirely revolutionized his own existence by the troublesome invention of “late dinner,” which Mrs. Ford thought was the suggestion of the Evil One himself. His reason for it was the same as that of many other changes which he had made at some cost to his own comfort, but he did not explain to any one what this meant--at least, if he did explain it, it was to Lucy, and Lucy was the most discreet of confidantes. When she came in with her little brother the Fords were seating themselves at the table in their parlor, on which were the tray and the tea-things, and a large plate of substantial bread and butter. Here Jock took his place with the old people, while Lucy went upstairs. She would have liked the bread and butter, too, but her father liked her to spend this hour with him, and he despised the modern invention of five o’clock tea, understanding that meal only, as the Fords did, who made themselves thoroughly comfortable, and had muffins sometimes, and a variety of pleasing adjuncts. Mr. Trevor was still sitting between the fire and the window when Lucy went upstairs. She had taken off her hat and out-door jacket, and went in to her father a spruce little gray maiden, with hair as smooth and everything about her as neat as if she had just come out of a bandbox. In Mr. Trevor’s rank of life there is no personal virtue in a woman that tells like neatness. He looked at her with eyes full of fond satisfaction and pleasure. He had put away the “Times” from his knees, and now had a book, having finished his paper, which lasted him till about four o’clock, and then went down-stairs to Mr. Ford. The books Mr. Trevor read were chiefly travels. He did not think novels were improving to the mind; and as for history and solid information at his age, what was the use of them? they could serve very little purpose in his case: though Lucy ought to read everything that was instructive. He put down his book open, on its face, on his knee when his daughter came in. His eyes dwelt upon her with genuine pleasure and pride as she took the chair in which Ford had been sitting. She had some knitting in her hand, which she began to work at placidly without looking at it. Lucy with her blue eyes, her fair smooth hair, and her equally smooth gray dress without a crease in it, looked the very impersonation of good order and calm. She looked at her father tranquilly with a pleasant smile. She was no chattering girl with a necessity of talk upon her. Even among the other girls at Mrs. Stone’s Lucy was never, as Mrs. Ford said, “one to talk.” She waited for what should be said to her. “Well,” said her father, rubbing his hands, “and where have you been, Lucy, to-day?”