result of perfect taste choosing at will among the season's costumes. At
her throat were fastened two blossoms of wild rose, with the dew still
on them, and the hand which held her lace-trimmed sunshade carried also
a spray of meadow-sweet.

Mr. Athel, looking up from the end of the table, was the first to
perceive her.

'_Guardami ben: ben son, ben son Beatrice_!' he exclaimed, rising and
moving from his place. 'But how in the world has she got here?'

'Beatrice!' cried Mrs. Rossall, following the general direction of eyes.
'Here already! But you surely haven't come from town this morning?'

'But indeed I have,' was the reply, in a joyous voice, whose full, rich
quality took the ear captive. 'Will you let me sit down just as I am?
Patty, here's a rose for you, and, Minnie, another for you.' She took
them from her dress. 'How do you do, Mr. Wilfrid?'

The governess was mentioned to her by name; Beatrice looked at her
steadfastly for a moment.

'But how have you got here?' inquired Mrs. Rossall. 'You must have left
London at an unheard-of hour; and how have yen come from Dealing?'

'Clearly she has walked,' said Mr. Athel. 'Don't you see the spoils of
her progress?'

'Oh yes, I have walked,' replied the girl. 'I suppose I'm in a dreadful
state towards the end I almost ran. I was so afraid lest I should miss