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Marion sat dreaming thus to herself, and half started when a question from Cissy as to what in the world she was thinking of, drew her into conversation with her cousin and Mrs. Fraser. Dinner was about over and in a few minutes the whole party dispersed. Mrs. Archer greatly delighted by Mrs. Fraser’s request that she might call to see her the next day.

“She is really a very nice little woman, isn’t she, May?” said Mrs. Archer, as they were walking home. “Mrs. Fraser, I mean.”

“In the first place, my dear Cissy, she is at least half a head taller than you. As for her niceness I hadn’t much opportunity of judging; she was so busy talking to you. She is certainly very nice-looking, and I like her husband’s face too.”

“Yes, poor man, but how dreadfully ill he looks! There isn’t a chance of his living long,” said Cissy, briskly.

“Indeed! Was that part of his wife’s very entertaining communications?” enquired Marion, drily.

“May, for shame! Of course not. I could see it for myself in half a minute. You do take one up so for whatever one says,” exclaimed Mrs. Archer, indignantly. “But I was going to tell you all I heard about the people here. Mrs. Fraser knows the Berwicks, slightly that is to say. At least she knows the ladies of the family and the old major. By-the-by that sunburnt young man among those gentlemen at the head of the table was the son, young Berwick. Captain, I think he is now. He is home on leave for two years. I never saw him before, but George knows him a little I think. Mrs. Fraser says he’s rather nice by all accounts. Mrs. Berwick and the eldest daughter, Blanche, are rather stupid. Blanche always ill and the mother fussing about her. The younger daughter, Sophy, is good-natured and lively, but is allowed to run rather wild, I fancy. She had a great flirtation with that fair young man with the queer nose. Erbenfeld is his name; a Swede. But he found out in time that she had no money; all this happened last year and so it came to nothing.”