“Why, Maggie, you naughty child, haven’t you begun to undress?” said Lucy, in astonishment. “I promised not to come and talk to you, because I thought you must be tired. But here you are, looking as if you were ready to dress for a ball. Come, come, get on your dressing-gown and unplait your hair.” “Well, _you_ are not very forward,” retorted Maggie, hastily reaching her own pink cotton gown, and looking at Lucy’s light-brown hair brushed back in curly disorder. “Oh, I have not much to do. I shall sit down and talk to you till I see you are really on the way to bed.” While Maggie stood and unplaited her long black hair over her pink drapery, Lucy sat down near the toilette-table, watching her with affectionate eyes, and head a little aside, like a pretty spaniel. If it appears to you at all incredible that young ladies should be led on to talk confidentially in a situation of this kind, I will beg you to remember that human life furnishes many exceptional cases. “You really _have_ enjoyed the music to-night, haven’t you Maggie?” “Oh yes, that is what prevented me from feeling sleepy. I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music. At other times one is conscious of carrying a weight.” “And Stephen has a splendid voice, hasn’t he?” “Well, perhaps we are neither of us judges of that,” said Maggie, laughing, as she seated herself and tossed her long hair back. “You are not impartial, and _I_ think any barrel-organ splendid.” “But tell me what you think of him, now. Tell me exactly; good and bad too.” “Oh, I think you should humiliate him a little. A lover should not be so much at ease, and so self-confident. He ought to tremble more.” “Nonsense, Maggie! As if any one could tremble at me! You think he is conceited, I see that. But you don’t dislike him, do you?” “Dislike him! No. Am I in the habit of seeing such charming people, that I should be very difficult to please? Besides, how could I dislike any one that promised to make you happy, my dear thing!” Maggie pinched Lucy’s dimpled chin. “We shall have more music to-morrow evening,” said Lucy, looking happy already, “for Stephen will bring Philip Wakem with him.” “Oh, Lucy, I can’t see him,” said Maggie, turning pale. “At least, I could not see him without Tom’s leave.” “Is Tom such a tyrant as that?” said Lucy, surprised. “I’ll take the responsibility, then,—tell him it was my fault.” “But, dear,” said Maggie, falteringly, “I promised Tom very solemnly, before my father’s death,—I promised him I would not speak to Philip without his knowledge and consent. And I have a great dread of opening the subject with Tom,—of getting into a quarrel with him again.” “But I never heard of anything so strange and unreasonable. What harm can poor Philip have done? May I speak to Tom about it?”