Happily unconscious of the sensation he had caused, Colonel Starbottle seated himself on the sofa, his white hands resting easily on the gold-headed cane. Once or twice the door behind him opened and closed quietly, scarcely disturbing him; or again opened more ostentatiously to the words, “Oh, excuse, please,” and the brief glimpse of a flaxen braid, or a black curly head--to all of which the colonel nodded politely--even rising later to the apparition of a taller, demure young lady--and her more affected “Really, I beg your pardon!” The only result of this evident curiosity was slightly to change the colonel's attitude, so as to enable him to put his other hand in his breast in his favorite pose. But presently he was conscious of a more active movement in the hall, of the sounds of scuffling, of a high youthful voice saying “I won't” and “I shan't!” of the door opening to a momentary apparition of Miss Tish dragging a small hand and half of a small black-ribboned arm into the room, and her rapid disappearance again, apparently pulled back by the little hand and arm; of another and longer pause, of a whispered conference outside, and then the reappearance of Miss Tish majestically, reinforced and supported by the grim presence of her partner, Miss Prinkwell. “This--er--unexpected visit,” began Miss Tish--“not previously arranged by letter”-- “Which is an invariable rule of our establishment,” supplemented Miss Prinkwell-- “And the fact that you are personally unknown to us,” continued Miss Tish-- “An ignorance shared by the child, who exhibits a distaste for an interview,” interpolated Miss Prinkwell, in a kind of antiphonal response-- “For which we have had no time to prepare her,” continued Miss Tish-- “Compels us most reluctantly”--But here she stopped short. Colonel Starbottle, who had risen with a deep bow at their entrance and remained standing, here walked quietly towards them. His usually high color had faded except from his eyes, but his exalted manner was still more pronounced, with a dreadful deliberation superadded. “I believe--er--I had--the honah--to send up my kyard!” (In his supreme moments the colonel's Southern accent was always in evidence.) “I may--er--be mistaken--but--er--that is my impression.” The colonel paused, and placed his right hand statuesquely on his heart. The two women trembled--Miss Tish fancied the very shirt frill of the colonel was majestically erecting itself--as they stammered in one voice,-- “Ye-e-es!” “That kyard contained my full name--with a request to see my ward--Miss Stannard,” continued the colonel slowly. “I believe that is the fact.” “Certainly! certainly!” gasped the women feebly. “Then may I--er--point out to you that I AM--er--WAITING?”