The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

38 The Gates Ajar.
"I don't think you are too wet to be
kissed," and threw my arms about her neck, -
I am not of the kissing kind, either, and I had
on my new bombazine, and she was very wet.
I thought she looked pleased.
Phoebe was sent to open the register in the
blue room, and as soon as it was warm I went
up with them, leading Faith by the hand. I
am unused to children, and she kept stepping
on my dress, and spinning around and tipping
over, in the most astonishing manner. It strikingly reminded me of a top at the last gasp.
Her mother observed that she was tired and
sleepy. Phoebe was waiting around awkwardly up stairs, with fresh towels on her arm.
Aunt Winifred turned and held out her hand.
"Well, Phcebe, I am glad to see you. This
is Phoebe, I am sure? You have altered with
everything else since I was here before. You
keep bright and well, I hope, and take good
care of Miss Mary?"
It was a simple enough thing, to be sure, her
taking the trouble to notice the old servant
with whom she had scarcely ever exchanged a
half-dozen words; but I liked it. I liked the
way, too, in which it was done. It reminded
me of Roy's fine, well-bred manner towards his