“And some brothers?” “Yes, madam!” “Picturesque, I am told; something like boys in the pictures of that delicious old Spanish painter. We must have them, too.” “What! my brothers?” “Yes, yes; and the old lady. That will be our grand effort, and our secret, too. Not wanting outside help, we can keep it for a surprise. Be ready when you are called. I think they will come off on Monday. Never mind the costumes; that dress will do very well for the family tableau. As for Rebecca, I will take care of her. My son says the boys and that old woman are perfect. Don’t change them in the least; it would spoil every thing. Oh! Mrs. Leeds, I am so glad to see you. Late am I—the committee waiting?” This last speech was made to a little dumpty lady, who came fluttering into the room unannounced, with both her hands held out, and an important look of business in her face. The ladies kissed each other impressively; then Mrs. Savage glided up to Anna and whispered, “Run away now. She mustn’t get a good look at you on any account. Don’t mind turning your back on us. Good-morning. Remember, I depend on you as a soldier’s daughter; it is your duty.” Anna went out in some confusion, hardly knowing whether she had been well received or not. Coming up the broad staircase, she met young Savage, and he stopped to speak with her. “You have seen my mother?” he said, gently. “Yes.” “And will oblige her, I hope?” “How can I refuse?” “That is generous. I thank you.” “It is I who should give the thanks,” answered Anna with a tremble of gratitude in her voice. Horace smiled, and shook his head. “I am afraid you will not let us do enough for any claim to thanks,” he said. “But do not forget to send that fine little fellow after my handkerchiefs. I shall want them.” Anna promised that Robert should be punctual, and went away so happy, that the very air seemed to carry her forward. On the afternoon of the third day from that, close upon evening, she stood in Mrs. Savage’s boudoir, again contrasting its luxurious belongings with her simple dress. Mrs. Savage was benign as ever. She had driven her enemy out of the Ivanhoe tableau; and the triumph filled her with exultation. From the boudoir Anna was swept off to the temporary buildings erected for the great fair, hurried through a labyrinth of festooned arches, loaded tables, lemonade fountains, and segar stands, into a dressing-room swarming with young ladies, who took no more heed of her than if she had been a lay-figure. Mrs. Savage was ubiquitous that evening. She posed characters, arranged draperies, grouped historical events, and exhibited wonderful generalship; while Anna stood in a remote part of the room, looking on anxious for the coming of her grandmother, and the two boys, who were to find their own way to the fair at a later hour.