R.  Browning.

The servant came to call me down to tea while I was still sitting with my face in my hands upon the bed.  I started up, lit the candles on the dressing-table, arranged my hair, washed the tears off my face, and hurried down the stairs.  They were waiting for me in the parlor, and no doubt were quite impatient, as they had already waited for the arrival of the evening train, and it was nearly eight o’clock.  The evening train had brought Mr. Eugene Whitney, of whom I can only say, that he was a very insignificant young man indeed.  We all moved into the dining-room; the others took the seats they were accustomed to.  Mr. Whitney and I, being the only new-comers, were advised which seats belonged to us by a trim young maid-servant, and I, for one, was very glad to get into mine.  Mr. Whitney was my neighbor on one hand, the youngest of the Hollenbeck boys on the other.  These were our seats: 

          Kilian,

Miss Leighton, Miss Henrietta Palmer,

Miss Benson, Mr. Eugene Whitney,

Tutor, Myself,

Boy, Boy,

      Mrs. Hollenbeck.

The seat opposite me was not filled when we sat down.

“Where is Mr. Langenau, Charley?” said his mother.

“I’m sure I don’t know, mamma,” said Charley, applying himself to marmalade.

“Charley doesn’t see much of his tutor out of hours, I think,” said Miss Benson.

“A good deal too much of him in ’em,” murmured Charley, between a spoonful of marmalade and a drink of milk.

“Benny’s the boy that loves his book,” said Kilian; “he’s the joy of his tutor’s heart, I know,” at which there was a general laugh, and Benny, the younger, looked up with a merry smile.

The Hollenbeck boys were not fond of study.  They were healthy and pretty; quite the reverse of intellectual; very fair and rosy, without much resemblance to their mother or her brothers.  It was evident the acquisition of knowledge was far from being the principal pursuit of their lives, and the tutor was looked upon as the natural enemy of Charley, at the least.

“I don’t see what you ever got him for, mamma,” said Charley.  “I’d study just as much without him.”

“And that wouldn’t be pledging yourself to very much, would it, Charley dear?”

“Wish he was back in Germany with his ugly books,” cried Charley.

But—­hush!—­there was a sudden lull, as the tutor entered and took his place by Charley.  He was a well-made man, evidently about thirty.  He was so decidedly a gentleman, in manners and appearance, that even these spoiled boys treated him respectfully, and the young ladies and gentlemen at the table were more stiff than offensive in their manner.  But he was so evidently not one of them!

It is very disagreeable to be among people who know each other very well, even if they try to know you very well and admit you to their friendship.  But I had no assurance that any one was trying to do this for me, and I am afraid I showed very little inclination to be admitted to their friendship.  I could not talk, and I did not want to be talked to.  I was even afraid of the little boys, and thought all the time that Charley was watching me and making signs about me to his brother, when in reality he was only telegraphing about the marmalade.