"Josie, this is all your doings," cried Marguerite, raising her hand
in a menacing gesture and trying playfully to restore quiet.

"I'm always bent upon mischief," cried Josie, her eyes sparkling
with merriment. "Indeed, at home, I am treated to that highly-
seasoned speech every hour of the day, and now I don't think I could
live without it."

"Helen, my dear, I did not"--"think to shed a tear in all my
miseries," shouted Josie, in a stagy and tragic style, and then,
'twixt laughter and song, attempted a series of courtesies worthy a
star actress.

"Why did you interrupt Louise when she was going to say something
good?" asked Marguerite in a half-reproachful tone.

"Just because I want no scenes until to-morrow evening, when Miss
Louise Rutherford and Miss Rushton will not display their histrionic
ability to a desert air."

"Hear! hear!" cried a voice from without, and instantly a promising
youth dashed in _sans ceremonie_, claiming all the familiarity
due a younger brother.

Fred. Verne's arrival changed the current of conversation. Louise
and Helen were soon interested in the costumes to be worn at the
theatricals, and Marguerite's good taste was always to be consulted
on such occasions.