"No,--it is plain Guy Kenmore," he answers, stifling his rising vexation, and laughing with her. "There, didn't I say so? Pray sit down, Mr. Kenmore," sweeping him a mocking, ridiculous little courtesy. "I hope you will make yourself quite at home at Bay View. I have a great liking for you, Mr. Kenmore." He takes a chair with readiness, while she paces, a little restlessly, up and down the floor. "Thank you," he says, languidly. "May I inquire to what circumstances I owe the honor of your regard?" "You may," shooting him a swift, arch glance. "You're going to take Bert off our hands, and I consider you in the light of my greatest benefactor." He laughs and colors at the cool speech of this strange girl. "Indeed?" he says, with a peculiar accent on the word. "Why?" "Oh, because," she pauses in her restless walk, and looks gravely at him a moment with those dark blue eyes, "because Bert is so wretchedly selfish she won't let me go anywhere until _she_ is married off. Now to-night there was a ball. Papa had said I might go, but when he was called unexpectedly away to the city what did Bert and mamma do but forbid my going! After my dress and gloves and slippers were all bought, too. Wasn't that too bad? And if you were me shouldn't you just love the man that would take Bertha away?" "A spoiled child, who hasn't the least business out of the school-room yet," mentally decides the visitor. Aloud he says, curiously: "Do you know you have the advantage of me? I haven't the least idea who you are." The blue eyes grow very large and round indeed. "Haven't you, really? Did Bertha never tell you about me--her little sister, Irene?" "Never. She must have forgotten your existence," he answered, with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "It is like her selfishness!" flashed Irene. "Never mind, I'll pay her out for her crossness this evening. Only think, Mr. Kenmore, papa came home just after they had gone, and said _he_ would take me to the ball. I wonder if he is ready yet. It's quite time we were starting," she adds, looking anxiously at the door. "I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke. Your dazzling _entree_ put everything out of my mind for a moment. Your father was in here about fifteen minutes ago. He left a message for you." "Why didn't you tell me, ah, why didn't you?" she demands, stamping her little foot in impatient wrath. "You talked so fast I quite forgot," he answers coolly. "Well, are you going to tell me now?" she inquires, flashing her large eyes at him superbly. "Yes, if you will keep still long enough," he answers, provokingly, and openly amused at the impatient anger, so like that of a sadly spoiled child. Irene folds her bare white arms over her heaving breast, and shuts her red lips tightly over her busy little tongue; but her eyes look through him with a glance that says plainer than words: "Go on, now, I'm waiting." With a stifled laugh, he obeys: