have grown so much darker in the rain. Is it not like, papa?'
said she, peeping over his shoulder, as he looked at the figures
in Mr. Lennox's drawing.

'Yes, very like. Your figure and way of holding yourself is
capital. And it is just poor old Isaac's stiff way of stooping
his long rheumatic back. What is this hanging from the branch of
the tree? Not a bird's nest, surely.'

'Oh no! that is my bonnet. I never can draw with my bonnet on; it
makes my head so hot. I wonder if I could manage figures. There
are so many people about here whom I should like to sketch.'

'I should say that a likeness you very much wish to take you
would always succeed in,' said Mr. Lennox. 'I have great faith in
the power of will. I think myself I have succeeded pretty well in
yours.' Mr. Hale had preceded them into the house, while Margaret
was lingering to pluck some roses, with which to adorn her
morning gown for dinner.

'A regular London girl would understand the implied meaning of
that speech,' thought Mr. Lennox. 'She would be up to looking
through every speech that a young man made her for the
arriere-pensee of a compliment. But I don't believe Margaret,--Stay!'
exclaimed he, 'Let me help you;' and he gathered for her some velvety
cramoisy roses that were above her reach, and then dividing the
spoil he placed two in his button-hole, and sent her in, pleased
and happy, to arrange her flowers.

The conversation at dinner flowed on quietly and agreeably. There