As Mr. Hemstead was regarded as a clergyman, though not quite through
with his studies, his aunt looked to him for the saying of grace.
It was a trying ordeal for the young fellow under the circumstances.
He shot a quick glance at Lottie, which she returned with a look of
serious expectation, then dropped her eyes and veiled a different
expression under the long lashes. But he was sorely embarrassed,
and stammered out he scarcely knew what. A suppressed titter from
Addie Marchmont and the young men was the only response he heard,
and it was not re-assuring. He heartily wished himself back in
Michigan, but was comforted by seeing Lottie looking gravely and
reproachfully at the irreverent gigglers.

"She is a good Christian girl," he thought, "and while the others
ridicule my wretched embarrassment, she sympathizes."

Hemstead was himself as open as the day and equally unsuspicious
of others. He believed just what he saw, and saw only what was
clearly apparent. Therefore Lottie, by tolerably fair acting, would
have no difficulty in deceiving him, and she was proving herself
equal to very skilful feigning. Indeed she was one who could do
anything fairly that she heartily attempted.

A moment after "grace" Harcourt made a poor witticism, at which
the majority laughed with an immoderateness quite disproportionate.
Mrs. Marchmont and her brother joined in the mirth, though evidently
vexed with themselves that they did. Even Hemstead saw that Harcourt's
remark was but the transparent excuse for the inevitable laugh at
his expense. Lottie looked around with an expression of mingled
surprise and displeasure, which nearly convulsed those in the
secret. But her aunt and uncle felt themselves justly rebuked, while