“Dresses, and bonnets, and mantles, and lace, and coiffures,” returned Sibylla.  “I can’t tell you half the beautiful things.  One of my cache-peignes is of filigrane silver-work, with drops falling from it, real diamonds.”

“What d’ye call a cache-peigne?” asked Jan.

“Don’t you know?  An ornament for the hair, that you put on to hide the comb behind.  Combs are coming into fashion.  Will you come up and see the things, Jan?”

“Not I!  What do I care for lace and bonnets?” ungallantly answered Jan.  “I didn’t know but Lionel might have brought me some anatomical studies over.  They’d be in my line.”

Sibylla shrieked—­a pretty little shriek of affectation.  “Lionel, why do you let him say such things to me?  He means amputated arms and legs.”

“I’m sure I didn’t,” said Jan.  “I meant models.  They’d not let the other things pass the customs.  Have you brought a dress a-piece for Deb and Amilly?”

“No,” said Sibylla, looking up in some consternation.  “I never thought about it.”

“Won’t they be disappointed, then!  They have counted upon it, I can tell you.  They can’t afford to buy themselves much, you know; the doctor keeps them so short,” added Jan.

“I would have brought them something, if I had thought of it; I would, indeed!” exclaimed Sibylla, in an accent of contrition.  “Is it not a pity, Lionel?”

“I wish you had,” replied Lionel.  “Can you give them nothing of what you have brought?”

“Well—­I—­must—­consider,” hesitated Sibylla, who was essentially selfish.  “The things are so beautiful, so expensive; they are scarcely suited to Deborah and Amilly.”

“Why not?” questioned Jan.

“You have not a bit of sense, Jan,” grumbled Sibylla.  “Things chosen to suit me, won’t suit them.”

“Why not?” repeated Jan obstinately.

“There never was any one like you, Jan, for stupidity,” was Sibylla’s retort.  “I am young and pretty, and a bride; and they are two faded old maids.”

“Dress ’em up young, and they’ll look young,” answered Jan, with composure.  “Give ’em a bit of pleasure for once, Sibylla.”

“I’ll see,” impatiently answered Sibylla.  “Jan, how came Nancy to go off with the Mormons?  Tynn says she packed up her things in secret, and started.”

“How came the rest to go?” was Jan’s answer.  “She caught the fever too, I suppose.”

“What Nancy are you talking of?” demanded Lionel.  “Not Nancy from here!”

“Oh, Lionel, yes!  I forgot to tell you,” said Sibylla.  “She is gone indeed.  Mrs. Tynn is so indignant.  She says the girl must be a fool!”

“Little short of it,” returned Lionel.  “To give up a good home here for the Salt Lake!  She will repent it.”

“Let ’em all alone for that,” nodded Jan, “I’d like to pay an hour’s visit to ’em, when they have been a month in the place—­if they ever get to it.”