Fenie had no lack of suitors, old and young, for all men like handsome girls who are also good, merry and accomplished; besides common report had it that Fenie and her sister drew between them five thousand dollars a year from the estate of their New England parents. Common report had set the figure about ten times too high, but never took the trouble to correct the mistake, so Fenie was the most attractive young woman of the vicinity, and many were the times when a merry evening which had been planned by Phil, Trif, Fenie, and Trixy, was spoiled by the appearance of some male visitor who had to be treated civilly, and who couldn't tear himself away from the witchery of Fenie's face and voice. There was one young man, Harry Trewman, whom Fenie seemed rather to like, and whom Trif and Phil, with their larger knowledge of human nature, wished their sister could like still more, for he was intelligent, modest, and seemed to have many virtues and no vices. They talked much about him when they were alone--alone except for Trixy, who was always so competent to amuse herself and to be absorbed by her books and dolls and her own thoughts that she seemed deaf to anything that was being said, for it generally took half a dozen separate and distinct remarks to make her change her dress, or wash her hands, or go to bed. The doorbell rang one evening while the family still lingered at the supper table, and the servant brought a card to Fenie. "Oh, dear!" exclaimed the girl with a pout. "Here comes Harry Trewman, just as we were going to have a jolly game of parchesi with the baby. I do think that callers might remain at home on stormy nights, when a girl hasn't taken the pains to dress for company. That young man needs a lesson. He has sisters and they ought to teach him that ladies don't expect calls on stormy nights." "It won't take you long to change your dress, dear," suggested Trif. "No, but--" "'Be not unmindful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares,'" quoted Phil, as he quartered a second orange for Trixy. "Angels--umph!" exclaimed Fenie. "Harry Trewman doesn't resemble any angel of whom I ever saw a picture. He's no stranger either, goodness knows; he's been here at least once a week for a long time. You shouldn't ever quote Scripture, Phil, unless the application is entirely correct." "Very well, then; 'Flee from the wrath to come.' Nothing makes Trif so provoked as delay in greeting a visitor." "Poor little Trixy. Her game will have to be put off," murmured Fenie as she rose from the table and kissed her niece. "Never mind me," said Trixy, from behind a kiss and a mouthful of orange. "The game will keep, but Mr. Trewman won't, if you don't be more careful." "Won't keep?" exclaimed Fenie, with a frown at the child and a suspicious glance at the remainder of the family.