Hester

counted at all), and these were its gayest and most brilliant members, the present dwellers in the White House, Harry and Ellen Vernon, the most independent of all the little community. Stories were current in it that Harry in business matters had begun to set himself in something like opposition to Catherine Vernon not long after she had given up the conduct of the bank into his hands: while Ellen detached herself openly from her Aunt Catherine’s court, and had set up a sort of Princess of Wales’s drawing-room of her own. It was some time before they appeared at the Vernonry, Harry driving his sister in a phaeton with a pair of high-stepping horses which seemed scarcely to touch the ground. The whole population of the place was stirred by the appearance of this brilliant equipage. Mrs. Reginald Vernon’s little boy, though bound under solemn penalties never to enter the gardens, came round and hung upon the gate to gaze. Even old Captain Morgan rose from his window to take another look. Mr. Mildmay Vernon came out with his newspaper in his hand, and if the sisters did not appear, it was not from want of curiosity but because Ellen Vernon had not received their civilities when she came to Redborough with the cordiality they had a right to expect. Catherine Vernon’s fine sleek horses made no such impression as did this dashing pair. And the pair who descended from the phaeton were as dashing as their steeds. Ellen was very fair, with hair half flaxen half golden, in light little curls like a baby’s upon her forehead, which was not the fashion in those days and therefore much more effective. She was dressed in a rich red-purple gown, charitably supposed to be “second mourning” by the addition of a little lace and a black ribbon, with yards of silken train sweeping after her, and sweeping up too all the mats at the doors as she went in. Harry was in the lightest of light clothes, but he had a tiny hatband supposed to answer all necessities in the way of “respect” to John Vernon deceased, or to John’s widow living. Hester standing shyly by, thought this new cousin Ellen the most beautiful creature she had ever seen; her daintiness and her fineness, her airy fairness of face, set off by the rich colour of her dress, was dazzling as she came into the brown room, with its two inhabitants in mourning, and the tall, light-coloured young man after her. Mrs. John made them her little curtsey, shook hands with them, gave her greeting and a smile or two, and then had recourse to her handkerchief.

“Oh yes, thanks,” she said, “I have quite settled down. I am very comfortable, but everything is so changed. To go away from the White House where I had everything I wished for, and then to come back⁠—here; it is a great difference.”

“Oh, but this is so much nicer than the White House,” cried Ellen; “this is so delightfully old fashioned! I would give the world to have the Vernonry. If Aunt Catherine had only given it to us when we came here and taken the White House for the⁠—” pensioners she was about to say, but paused in time⁠—“other relations! I should have liked it so much better, and probably so would you.”

Mrs. John shook her head.

“I never could have gone back to it in the same circumstances,” she said, “and therefore I would prefer not to go to it at all.”

“But oh, you must come and see me!” said Ellen; “and you too,” turning to Hester. “I am so fond of getting among little girls and feeling myself quite young again. Come and spend a long day with me, won’t you? I will show you all my things, and Harry shall drive us out, if you like driving. May she come? We have always something going on. Aunt Catherine’s is the old set, and ours is the young set,” she said with a laugh. She spoke with a little accompaniment of chains and bracelets, a soft jingle as of harness, about her, being very lively and full of little gestures⁠—pretty bridlings of her head and movements of her hands.

Harry behind backed her up, as seemed to be his duty.

“She is dreadfully wild,” he said; “she would like to be always on the go.”

“Oh, Harry, nothing of the sort; but if we don’t enjoy ourselves when we are young, when are we to do it? And then I say it is good policy, don’t you think so, Mrs. Vernon? You see we are just like shopkeepers, all the people hereabouts are our customers. And Aunt Catherine gives big dinners for the old fogeys, but we do just as much good, keeping the young ones jolly; and we keep ourselves jolly too.”

“Indeed, Miss Ellen,” said Mrs. John, with some dignity, “I never heard such an idea that bankers were like shopkeepers. Catherine must have made great changes indeed if it is like that. It never was so in my time.”

“Oh,” said Ellen, “you were too grand to allow it, that is all, but it is the fashion now to speak plain.” And she laughed, and Harry laughed as if it had been the best joke in the world. “But we mustn’t say so before Aunt Catherine,” cried the gay young woman. “She disapproves of us both as it is. Perhaps not so much of Harry, for she likes the boys best, you know; but oh, dreadfully of me! If you want to keep in favour with Aunt Catherine⁠—isn’t your name Hester?”

“I don’t,” said Hester, abruptly, without further question.

“Oh, Harry, look here, here’s another rebel! isn’t it fun? I thought you were nice from the very first look of you,” and here Ellen rose with a still greater jingle of all her trappings and touched with her own delicate fair cheek the darker oval of Hester’s, which coloured high with shyness and pleasure. “I’ll tell