who it was, at first. She had not seen Imogen for almost two years.

"I found the front door open," explained Imogen, in her high-pitched
voice, "and as nobody seemed to hear when I rang the bell, I ventured to
come right up stairs. I hope I'm not interrupting anything private?"

"Not at all," said Katy, politely. "Elsie, dear, move up that low chair,
please. Do sit down, Imogen! I'm sorry nobody answered your ring, but
the servants are cleaning house to-day, and I suppose they didn't hear."

So Imogen sat down and began to rattle on in her usual manner, while
Elsie, from behind Katy's chair, took a wide-awake survey of her dress.
It was of cheap material, but very gorgeously made and trimmed, with
flounces and puffs, and Imogen wore a jet necklace and long black
ear-rings, which jingled and clicked when she waved her head about. She
still had the little round curls stuck on to her cheeks, and Elsie
wondered anew what kept them in their places.

By and by the object of Imogen's visit came out. She had called to say
good-by. The Clark family were all going back to Jacksonville to live.

"Did you ever see the Brigand again?" asked Clover, who had never
forgotten that eventful tale told in the parlor.

"Yes," replied Imogen, "several times. And I get letters from him quite
often. He writes _beau_tiful letters. I wish I had one with me, so that
I could read you a little bit. You would enjoy it, I know. Let me
see--perhaps I have." And she put her hand into her pocket. Sure enough
there _was_ a letter. Clover couldn't help suspecting that Imogen knew
it all the time.