Matters were going on swimmingly, and I had three times ventured a remark, when Anna, who was sitting near the window, exclaimed, “Look here, girls, did you ever see a finer-looking gentleman?” at the same time calling their attention to a stranger in the street.  Emma looked, too, and the bright flush which suffused her cheek made me associate the gentleman with the letters she had received, and I was not surprised when he entered our yard and knocked at our door.  Juliet arose to answer his summons, but Emma prevented her, saying;

“Suffer me to go, will you?”

She was gone some time, and when she returned was accompanied by the stranger, whom she introduced as Mr. Ashmore.  I surveyed him with childish curiosity, and drew two very satisfactory breaths when I saw that he was wholly unlike Monsieur Penoyer.  He was a very fine-looking man, but I did not exactly like the expression of his face.  It was hardly open enough to suit me, and I noticed that he never looked you directly in the eye.  In five minutes I had come to the conclusion that he was not half so good a man as Mr. Evelyn.  I was in great danger, however, of changing my mind, when I saw how fondly his dark eye rested on Emma, and how delighted he seemed to be at her improved health; and when he, without any apparent exertion, kept the whole company entertained, I was charmed, and did not blame Emma for liking him.  Anna’s doctor was nothing to him, and I even fancied that he would dare to go all alone to the old mine!

Suddenly he faced about, and espying me in the corner, he said, “Here is a little lady I’ve not seen.  Will some one introduce me?”

With the utmost gravity Anna said, “It is my sister, little crazy Jane.”

I glanced quickly at him to see how he would receive the intelligence, and when, looking inquiringly first at me and then at Emma, he said, “Is it really so? what a pity!” the die was cast—­I never liked him again.  That night in my little low bed, long after Lizzie was asleep, I wept bitterly, wondering what made Anna so unkind, and why people called me crazy.  I knew I looked like other children, and I thought I acted like them, too; unless, indeed, I climbed more trees, tore more dresses, and burst off more hooks.

But to return to the party.  After a time I thought that Mr. Ashmore’s eyes went over admiringly to Carrie more frequently than was necessary, and for once I regretted that she was so pretty.  Ere long, Mr. Ashmore, too, went over, and immediately there ensued between himself and Carrie a lively conversation, in which she adroitly managed to let him know that she had been three years at school in Albany.  The next thing that I saw was that he took from her curls a rosebud and appropriated it to his buttonhole.  I glanced at Emma to see how she was affected, but her face was perfectly calm, and wore the old sweet smile.  When the young ladies were about leaving, I was greatly shocked to see Mr. Ashmore offer to accompany Carrie and Agnes home.