“Yes, I believe in race,” was her reply.

“Mother,” then said Edgar after a short silence, “why do you not have Miss Dundas to dine here with Adelaide?  It would be more amusing to her, for it must be dull”—­turning to their guest and speaking amiably, considerately—­“I am afraid very dull—­to be so often quite alone with us.”

He did not add what he thought, that it was almost indelicate in her to be here so often.  He was out of humor with her to-day.

“She is such an uncertain girl we never know how she may be.  I had her to stay here once, and I do not want to repeat the experiment,” was Mrs. Harrowby’s answer.

“But, mamma, that was before she went to school, when she was quite a child.  She is so much improved now,” pleaded Josephine.

“Good little soul!” said Edgar under his breath.—­“Wine, Joseph?” aloud, as his recognition of her good offices.

“And I like coming alone best, thanks,” said Adelaide with unruffled calmness.  “Leam has never been my friend; indeed, I do not like her, and you all,” to the sisters, with a gracious smile and prettily, “have always been my favorite companions.”

“Still, she is very lonely, and it would be kind.  Besides, she is good to look at,” said Edgar.

“Do you think so?” said Mrs. Harrowby with crisp lips and ill-concealed displeasure.

“Do I think so, mother?  I should have no eyes else.  She is superb.  I have never seen such a face.  She is the most beautiful creature I have ever known of any nation.”

Adelaide’s delicate pink cheeks turned pale, and then they flushed a brilliant rose as she laid down her spoon and left her jelly untasted.

There were no trials of skill at chess, no duets, no solos, this evening.  After dinner Edgar went to his own room and sat there smoking.  He felt revolted at the idea of spending two or three hours with what he irreverently called “a lot of dull women,” and preferred his own thoughts to their talk.  He sauntered into the drawing-room about ten minutes before Adelaide had to leave, apologizing for his absence on the man’s easy plea of “business,” saying he was sorry to have missed her charming society, and he hoped they should see her there soon again, and so on—­all in the proper voice and manner, but with a certain ring of insincerity in the tones which Adelaide detected, if the others did not.  But she accepted his excuses with the most admirable tact, smiling to the sisters as she said, “Oh, we have been very happy, Josephine, have we not? though,” with a nice admission of Edgar’s claims, not too broadly stated nor too warmly allowed, “of course it would have been very pleasant if you could have come in too.”

“It has been my loss,” said Edgar.

She smiled “Yes” by eyes, lips and turn of her graceful head.  In speech she answered, “Of that, of course, you are the best judge for yourself; but none of us here feel as some girls do, lost without gentlemen to amuse them.  We can get on very well by ourselves.  Cannot we, Joseph?”