"A trifle bleak this, isn't it?" he said, rubbing his hands before the
blazing logs. "But just take note of that fragrant beefsteak. Say,
girls, I don't see any table set anywhere;" and he looked ruefully
around.

"Give us time, sir," remonstrated the elderly lady. "Here is a move in
the right direction already," she added, as the housekeeper entered with
the tea tray.

"Mabel, can't we have muffins?" pleaded the young voice.

"Muffins! Not on such short notice; but you may have toast and eggs."

"You'll disenchant me with your enormous appetite," chaffed the young
fellow, and got a saucy slap for his pains.

"Riding hours and hours on that horrid train is enough to starve any
one," was the ready defense; "you only came from New York. Come on,
everybody, while the steak is hot." And they gathered round to do
justice to the repast.

Mabel and Jessie Winthrop were orphan sisters, the one fifteen years the
elder, and was mother as well as sister to her idolized charge. Her own
life romance was a buried chapter, and now she was chiefly concerned for
the happiness of the two young persons seated there.

George Randolph was a distant cousin, and was to be married to Jessie
Winthrop in two weeks' time. They had come down to make ready the
seaside villa, which was their favorite home. It stood upon a winding