tall slender-limbed Queen Anne table, which stood in readiness against the wall, Mrs. Stone chose to make herself the one anachronism in the place. Her chair was a low one in front of the fire; her teatable was in proportion--a bit of debased nineteenth-century comfort in the midst of the stately grace which she professed to think so much more delightful. Why was this? It was Mrs. Stone’s pleasure, and there was no more to be said. She, with her pretty white cap upon her handsome head, seated at the feet of all her silent guests in their high chairs, was not only the central light in the picture, but a kind of humorous commentary upon it; but whether this proceeded from any sense of the joke in her, or was merely the expression of her own determination to please herself, were it even in flat rebellion to her own code, no one could tell. “You are just in time,” she said, “Lucy and Katie, to give our friends some tea. Don’t interfere, Frank. I like girls to hand tea. It comes within their province; and it is a pretty office, which they do far more prettily than you can.” “That I don’t dispute for a moment,” said a large round manly barytone, enthroned on high in one of the Chippendale chairs, “and I don’t deny that I like to be served by such hands when it is permitted.” “That is one of the popular fallacies about women,” said Mrs. Stone, “and involves the whole question. Our weak surrender of our rights for the pleasure of being waited upon in public, was, I suppose, one of the consequences of chivalry. According to my theory, it is the business of women to serve. You shoot the birds or kill the deer, Mr. Rushton, as you best can, and we cook it and carve it, and serve it up to you.” “If this beatitude depends upon my ability to kill the deer or shoot the birds, my dear lady!” said another good-natured voice, which added immediately, “Why, this is Lucy Trevor! I am very glad to see you. My dear, this is Lucy Trevor. Since she has been at the White House we have scarcely seen her. You girls are made too happy when you get under the charge of Mrs. Stone.” “Is it you, Lucy?” said the lady with the veil; “come and speak to me, dear. I think it is a year since I have seen you. You have grown up, quite grown up in the time. How these young creatures change! A year does not make much difference in us; but this child has shot up! And Raymond--you remember your playfellow, Lucy--why, he is a man, as old as his father, giving us advice, if you please! It is something wonderful. I catch myself laughing out when I hear him discoursing about law. Raymond giving his opinion, my little boy, my baby! And I dare say little Lucy has begun to give her opinion, too.” “Lucy is a very good girl,” said Mrs. Stone; “she never takes anything upon her. Katie now and then favors us with her ideas as to how the world should be governed.”