Tom wrote by return to state that she considered Rhoda "a brick" for sending her such a "ripping" invitation; that it would be "great sport" to see her at home, and that she would arrive by the twelve o'clock train on the next Monday. "She isn't pretty," Rhoda explained anxiously to Harold, the fastidious; "in fact, she's plain, very plain indeed. I'm afraid you won't like her, but she likes _you_. She saw you on the platform at Euston, and said you were a `bee-ootiful young man,' and that she was broken-hearted that she couldn't stay to make your acquaintance." "Good taste, evidently, though unattractive!" said Harold, smiling. "I'm sorry she's not good-looking, but it can't be helped. No doubt she makes up for it in moral worth." "Well, she does, that's perfectly true. I loathed and detested her at first, but I'm devoted to her now. She's just, and kind, and awfully clever, and so funny that you simply can't be in low spirits when she's about. All the girls adore her, but you won't. She says herself that men can't appreciate her, so she's going to devote her life to women, out of revenge. Men never care for women unless they are pretty and taking," cried Rhoda, with an air, and Harold protested sententiously. "I'm the exception to the rule! I look beyond the mere exterior, to the nobility of character which lies behind. Dear Tom's lack of beauty is nothing to me. I am prepared for it, and shall suffer no disillusion." He changed his mind, however, when at the appointed time "dear Tom" arrived, and stepped from the carriage on to the platform of the little station. When his eye first fell upon her, in response to Rhoda's excited, "There she is!" he felt a momentary dizzy conviction that there must be a mistake. This extraordinary apparition could never be his sister's friend, but yes! it was even so, for already the girls were greeting each other, and glancing expectantly in his direction. He went through the introduction with immovable countenance, saw the two friends comfortably seated in the pony carriage, and called to mind a message in the village which would prevent him from joining them as he had intended. He required a few minutes' breathing time to recover his self-possession, and the girls drove off alone, not at all sorry, if the truth were told, to be deprived of his company. "Well, Fuzzy!" cried Tom. "Well, Tom!" cried Rhoda, and stared with wondering eyes at the unaccustomed grandeur of her friend's attire. Thomasina had done honour to the occasion by putting on her very best coat and skirt, of a shade of fawn accurately matching her complexion, while on her head was perched that garment unknown at Hurst, "a trimmed hat." Fawn straw, fawn wings sticking out at right angles, bows of fawn-coloured ribbon wired into ferocious stiffness--such was the work of art; and complacent, indeed, was the smile of its owner as she met her companion's scrutiny.