“Phil!” she said, “Toinette! There is a carriage drawing up before the door.” “Lady Augusta?” said Toinette, making a dart at Tod. “Confound Lady Augusta!” ejaculated Phil, devoutly. “That woman has a genius for presenting herself at inopportune times.” “But it is n't Lady Augusta,” Mollie objected. “It is n't the Bilberry carriage at all. Do you think I don't know 'the ark'?” “You ought to by this time,” returned Phil. “I do, to my own deep grief.” “It is the Brabazon Lodge carriage!” cried Mollie, all at once. “Miss MacDowlas is getting out, and--yes, here is Dolly!” “And Tod just washed and dressed!” said Mrs. Phil, picking up her offspring with an air of self-congratulation. “Miracle of miracles! The Fates begin to smile upon us. Phil, how is my back hair?” “All right,” returned Phil. “I suppose I shall have to present myself, too.” It was necessary that they should all present themselves, they found. Miss MacDowlas wished to form the acquaintance of the whole family, it appeared, and apart from this her visit had rather an important object. “It is a sort of farewell visit,” she explained, “though, of course, the farewell is only to be a temporary one. We find London too hot for us, and we are going to try Switzerland. The medical man thinks a change will be beneficial to your sister.” They all looked at Dolly then,--at Dolly in her delicate, crisp summer bravery and her pretty summer hat; but it was neither hat nor dress that drew their eyes upon her all at once in that new questioning way. But Dolly only laughed,--a soft, nervous laugh, however,--and played with her much-frilled parasol. “Miss MacDowlas,” she said, “is good enough to fancy I am not so well as I ought to be, Tod,” bending her face low over the pretty little fellow, who had trotted to her knee. “What do you think of Aunt Dolly's appearing in the character of invalid? It sounds like the best of jokes, does n't it, Tod?” They tried to smile responsively, all of them, but the effort was not a success. Despite all her pretence of brightness and coquettish attire, there was not one of them who had not been startled when their first greeting was over. Under the triumph of a hat, her face showed almost sharply cut, her skin far too transparently colorless, her eyes much too large and bright. The elaborately coiled braids of hair seemed almost too heavy for the slender throat to bear, and no profusion of trimming could hide that the little figure was worn. The flush and glow and spirit had died away from her. It was not the Dolly who had been wont to pride herself upon ruling supreme in Vagabondia, who sat there before them making them wonder; it was a new creature, who seemed quite a stranger to them.