July Home was standing by the window--standing very timid and demure, pretending to look out, but in reality lost in conjectures concerning Johnnie Lithgow, whose image had never left her mind since Miss Annie took the pains to advise her not to think of him. July, innocent heart, would never have thought of him had this warning been withheld; but the fascination and thrill of conscious danger filled July’s mind with one continual recollection of his presence, though she did not dare to turn round frankly and own herself his old acquaintance. With a slight tremble in her little figure, July stands by the window, and July’s silky hair already begins to droop out of the braid in which she had confined it with so much care. A silk gown--the first and only one of its race belonging to July--has been put on in honour of this, her first day at Heathbank; and July, to tell the truth, is somewhat fluttered on account of it, and is a little afraid of herself and the unaccustomed splendour of her dress. Menie Laurie, a good way apart, sits on a stool at her mother’s feet, looking round upon all those faces--from July’s innocent tremble of shy pleasure, to Johnnie Lithgow’s well-pleased recognition of his childish friend. There is something touching in the contrast when you turn to Menie Laurie, looking up, with all these new-awakened thoughts in her eyes, into her mother’s face. For dutiful and loving as Menie has always been, you can tell by a glance that she never clung before as she clings now--that never in her most trustful childish times was she so humble in her helplessness as her tender woman’s love is to-day. Deprecating, anxious, full of so many wistful beseeching ways--do you think the mother does not know why it is that Menie’s silent devotion thus pleads and kneels and clings to her very feet? And there is a shadow on Mrs Laurie’s brow--a certain something glittering under Mrs Laurie’s eyelid. No, she needs no interpreter--and the mother hears Menie’s prayer, “Will you like him--will you try to like him?” sounding in her heart, and resolves that she will indeed try to like him for Menie’s sake. “Mr Home, of course, will come to see us to-night,” said the sprightly Miss Annie. “My dear Mrs Laurie, how can I sufficiently thank you for bringing such a delightful circle of young people to Heathbank? It quite renews my heart again. You can’t think how soon one gets worn out and weary in this commonplace London world: but so fresh--so full of young spirits and life--I assure you, Mr Lithgow, yourself, and your friend, and my sweet girls here, are quite like a spring to me.”