"Go and look after James," says Lady Handcock "He always gets into mischief when left by himself. I want to make friends with Phyllis."

By and by Miss Beatoun comes in, and I get through another introduction.

She is hardly as tall as I am, and wonderfully pretty. No need to disbelieve the report that last season all men raved of her. Her eyes are large and dark and soft, her hair a very, very light brown, though hardly golden, and guiltless of dye. A tiny black mole, somewhat like a Queen Anne's patch, grows close to her left ear.

As I look at her, I decide hastily she is _more_ than pretty--she is attractive. Her whole face is full of light; the very corners of her mouth express unuttered laughter; it is altogether the most _riante_, kissable, lovable face conceivable. Her hands and feet are fairy-like in their proportions.

Nevertheless, her eyes, though unusually soft, betray the coquette; they cannot entirely conceal the mischievous longing for mastery that lurks in their velvet depths.

"Is she not young, Bebe?" asks Lady Handcock, indicating me.

"_Very_. Much younger even than I dared to hope. Of course"--to me--"we all heard you were _quite_ a girl; yet that did not reassure me, as it can be said of most brides, and as a rule they are a disagreeable lot. But you have forgotten to give yourself airs, and that is _so_ novel and delightful--so many young women _will_ go in for that sort of thing. I feel," says Miss Beatoun, gayly, "I am going to have a delicious autumn, and be very happy."

"I hope so," I answer, earnestly. "Do you know, Lady Handcock, I quite dreaded your coming?--it kept me awake several nights, thinking perhaps you would be cold and difficult, and would not like me; and now I am _so_ relieved--you cannot fancy what a weight is off my mind."

I say this with such evident feeling that they both laugh heartily, and Bebe gives it as her opinion that I am a "regular darling."

"But you must not call me Lady Handcock," corrects my sister-in-law. "My name is Harriet--or Harry, for the most part. I do not want to be made an old woman just yet, though Bebe _will_ tell everyone I am her aunt, instead of saying James is her uncle.""It is the only hold I have over her you see," exclaims Bebe,
"and I keep it as a threat. But for knowing I have it in my power
to say that, she would be under no control. And with mamma so

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