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advantage in a womanā€™s faceā ā€”they wanted spirit and firmness to fit them for the face of a man. His hands had the same wandering habit as his eyes; they were constantly changing from one position to another, constantly twisting and turning any little stray thing they could pick up. He was undeniably handsome, graceful, well-bredā ā€”but no close observer could look at him without suspecting that the stout old family stock had begun to wear out in the later generations, and that Mr. Francis Clare had more in him of the shadow of his ancestors than of the substance.

When the astonishment caused by his appearance had partially subsided, a search was instituted for the missing report. It was found in the remotest recesses of Mr. Vanstoneā€™s capacious pocket, and was read by that gentleman on the spot.

The plain facts, as stated by the engineer, were briefly these: Frank was not possessed of the necessary abilities to fit him for his new calling; and it was useless to waste time by keeping him any longer in an employment for which he had no vocation. This, after three yearsā€™ trial, being the conviction on both sides, the master had thought it the most straightforward course for the pupil to go home and candidly place results before his father and his friends. In some other pursuit, for which he was more fit, and in which he could feel an interest, he would no doubt display the industry and perseverance which he had been too much discouraged to practice in the profession that he had now abandoned. Personally, he was liked by all who knew him; and his future prosperity was heartily desired by the many friends whom he had made in the North. Such was the substance of the report, and so it came to an end.

Many men would have thought the engineerā€™s statement rather too carefully worded; and, suspecting him of trying to make the best of a bad case, would have entertained serious doubts on the subject of Frankā€™s future. Mr. Vanstone was too easy-tempered and sanguineā ā€”and too anxious, as well, not to yield his old antagonist an inch more ground than he could helpā ā€”to look at the letter from any such unfavorable point of view. Was it Frankā€™s fault if he had not got the stuff in him that engineers were made of? Did no other young men ever begin life with a false start? Plenty began in that way, and got over it, and did wonders afterward. With these commentaries on the letter, the kindhearted gentleman patted Frank on the shoulder. ā€œCheer up, my lad!ā€ said Mr. Vanstone. ā€œWe will be even with your father one of these days, though he has won the wager this time!ā€

The example thus set by the master of the house was followed at once by the familyā ā€”with the solitary exception of Norah, whose incurable formality and reserve expressed themselves, not too graciously, in her distant manner toward the visitor. The rest, led by Magdalen (who had been Frankā€™s favorite playfellow in past times) glided back into their old easy habits with him without an effort. He was ā€œFrankā€ with all of them but Norah, who persisted in addressing him as ā€œMr. Clare.ā€ Even the account he was now encouraged to give of the reception accorded to him by his father, on the previous night, failed to disturb Norahā€™s gravity. She sat with her dark, handsome face steadily averted, her eyes cast down, and the rich color in her cheeks warmer and deeper than usual. All the rest, Miss Garth included, found old Mr. Clareā€™s speech of welcome to his son quite irresistible. The noise and merriment were at their height when the servant came in, and struck the whole party dumb by the announcement of visitors in the drawing-room. ā€œMr. Marrable, Mrs. Marrable, and Miss Marrable; Evergreen Lodge, Clifton.ā€

Norah rose as readily as if the new arrivals had been a relief to her mind. Mrs. Vanstone was the next to leave her chair. These two went away first, to receive the visitors. Magdalen, who preferred the society of her father and Frank, pleaded hard to be left behind; but Miss Garth, after granting five minutesā€™ grace, took her into custody and marched her out of the room. Frank rose to take his leave.

ā€œNo, no,ā€ said Mr. Vanstone, detaining him. ā€œDonā€™t go. These people wonā€™t stop long. Mr. Marrableā€™s a merchant at Bristol. Iā€™ve met him once or twice, when the girls forced me to take them to parties at Clifton. Mere acquaintances, nothing more. Come and smoke a cigar in the greenhouse. Hang all visitorsā ā€”they worry oneā€™s life out. Iā€™ll appear at the last moment with an apology; and you shall follow me at a safe distance, and be a proof that I was really engaged.ā€

Proposing this ingenious stratagem in a confidential whisper, Mr. Vanstone took Frankā€™s arm and led him round the house by the back way. The first ten minutes of seclusion in the conservatory passed without events of any kind. At the end of that time, a flying figure in bright garments flashed upon the two gentlemen through the glassā ā€”the door was flung openā ā€”flowerpots fell in homage to passing petticoatsā ā€”and Mr. Vanstoneā€™s youngest daughter ran up to him at headlong speed, with every external appearance of having suddenly taken leave of her senses.

ā€œPapa! the dream of my whole life is realized,ā€ she said, as soon as she could speak. ā€œI shall fly through the roof of the greenhouse if somebody doesnā€™t hold me down. The Marrables have come here with an invitation. Guess, you darlingā ā€”guess what theyā€™re going to give at Evergreen Lodge!ā€

ā€œA ball!ā€ said Mr. Vanstone, without a momentā€™s hesitation.

ā€œPrivate Theatricals!!!ā€ cried Magdalen, her clear young voice ringing through the conservatory like a bell; her loose sleeves falling back and showing her round white arms to the dimpled elbows, as she clapped her hands ecstatically in the air. ā€œThe Rivals is the play, papaā ā€”The Rivals, by the famous whatā€™s-his-nameā ā€”and they want me to act! The one thing in the whole universe that

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