"Miss Deane must have been very communicative," said Mr. Hastings,
who understood the world much better than his wife, and who
readily guessed that Miss Eugenia had passed herself off for quite
as much as she was.

"It was perfectly natural for her to tell me what she did,"
answered Ella, "and I like her so much! I mean to drive over there
soon, and take her out riding."

Here the conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the door-
bell, and it was not again resumed until the Monday morning
following, when, at the breakfast-table, Ella asked for the
carriage to be sent round, as "she was going to call at Mrs.
Deane's, and take the young ladies to ride."

"But it is washing-day," suggested Mr. Hastings, wishing to tease
his wife. "And nothing, I am told, mortifies a woman more than to
be caught with her hair in papers, and her arms in the suds. So,
if you value your friend Eugenia's feelings, you had better wait
until to-morrow."

"_Suds_, Howard! What do you mean?" asked the indignant Ella.
"Eugenia Deane's hands never saw a wash-tub! Why, they are almost
as white as mine." And the little lady glanced rather admiringly
at the small snowy fingers, which handled so gracefully the heavy
knife and fork of silver.

"You have my permission to go," said Mr. Hastings, "but I am
inclined to think you'll have to wait a long time for your friends
to make their appearance."