"How do you do?" he said, holding out his right hand, while steadying
himself with a cane held in the left. "I hope you're glad to get back to
America?"

"Arthur, is it? Yes; thank you: and I'm very glad your injuries have
proved less serious than was at first feared," she said, kindly meeting
his advances half-way.

"Oh yes," he replied, with attempted nonchalance, "I shall be all right by
and by."

Then retreating to the seat from which he had just risen, the corner of a
sofa by the side of his sister Adelaide, his eye following Elsie as she
crossed the room to pay her respects to her grandfather and others. "What
on earth you call that girl little for, I can't imagine," he remarked in
an undertone; "why she's quite above the average height; graceful as a
young fawn, too; splendid figure, and actually the most beautiful face I
ever saw. I don't wonder she turned the heads of lords and dukes on the
other side of the water. But what _do_ you call her little for?"

"I hardly know, Art; with me it's a term of endearment more than anything
else, I believe," replied his sister; "but there is something in the
expression of her face--something that has always been there, a sweet
simplicity and innocence--that moves one to a sort of protecting love as
to a little one who has not yet attained sufficient worldly wisdom to take
care of herself."

Old Mr. Dinsmore greeted his lovely granddaughter almost affectionately,
holding her hand in his for a moment, and looking from her to her father.
"Really, she's a girl to be proud of, Horace," he said with a paternal