“Oh!” said Rosamond. There was something in that monosyllable which implied a good deal more. “Oh,” it seemed to say, “you have a son Archie, and he is fond of dogs? I don’t make much account of your son Archie--still--” There was all this in the varying of her tone; but she did not ask any questions. She presented her peachlike cheek once more to Evelyn to be kissed, and she offered her hand with a little inclination of a curtsey to Rowland. He went downstairs with her, though she remonstrated, and watched her untie her dog from the railings with a sense of wondering, wistful admiration. “Oh,” he breathed in his heart, “if Marion was but like that!” He burst into words when he got upstairs. “Oh, if I could but see Marion like that!” This exclamation was quite unintentional and involuntary: he was startled into it, and almost regretted he had said it the moment the words were out. “Why!” said Evelyn, wondering. Then she added, “I hope Marion will end by being something much better than that.” “Better!” he paused a little. “I wish I saw her at all like that. The voice, and the manner, and the dress. That girl talks almost like you: how composed she is--taking everything just as it ought to be taken: understanding--You have something about you, people in your class--you are more philosophical--you seem to know what things mean, even a child like that: while Marion--poor little Marion--she is ready to cry or fly into a passion about anything--nothing--and to say little impertinent senseless things--Even the very dress--” “Dear James, I say what I mean. Probably dear little Marion is far better in her naturalness than this. I mean nothing against Rosamond. She is made up of so many things. She is natural too, but it is a nature which is full of art. You would not like Marion to understand as she does, poor child. As for the dress--” He had received this with much shaking of his head. Marion’s naturalness! If only Evelyn might find it so. He thought Rosamond much more natural for his part, and he was very grateful to his wife for the “dear little Marion,” which indeed was more the fruit of opposition in Evelyn than of an affection which she could scarcely have been expected to feel for a girl whom she had never seen. He caught at the last words as something to which he could reply--“The dress?” “I have been thinking about that. It is a great pity you did not bring them both up with you to town, James, for that purpose. It was almost certain there would be deficiencies in dress.”