I can't dream of your going out into this weather till after lunch. Suppose
we have the tots into the drawing-room again? I want them to make friends
with you at once. I _know_ you love children.--Oh, I have known that for a
long time!'

Miss Shepperson stayed to lunch. She stayed to tea. When at length she took
her leave, about six o'clock, the arrangement was complete in every detail.
On this day week she would transfer herself to the Rymers' house, and enter
upon her new life.

She arrived on Saturday afternoon, and was received by the assembled family
like a very dear friend or relative. Mr. Rymer, a well-dressed man, polite,
good-natured, with a frequent falsetto laugh, talked over the teacups in
the pleasantest way imaginable, not only putting Miss Shepperson at ease,
but making her feel as if her position as a member of the household were
the most natural thing in the world. His mere pronunciation of her name
gave it a dignity, an importance quite new to Miss Shepperson's ears. He
had a way of shaping his remarks so as to make it appear that the homely,
timid woman was, if anything, rather the superior in rank and education,
and that their simple ways might now and then cause her amusement. Even the
children seemed to do their best to make the newcomer feel at home. Cissy,
whose age was nine, assiduously handed toast and cake with a most engaging
smile, and little Minnie, not quite six, deposited her kitten in Miss
Shepperson's lap, saying prettily, 'You may stroke it whenever you like.'

Miss Shepperson, to be sure, had personal qualities which could not but
appeal to people of discernment. Her plain features expressed a simplicity
and gentleness which more than compensated for the lack of conventional
grace in her manners; she spoke softly and with obvious frankness, nor was
there much fault to find with her phrasing and accent; dressed a little