The Bacillus of Beauty

"I--oh, I'm afraid I'm late," I stammered.

Miss Marcia began to unbutton my raincoat, and her kindness somewhat relieved my embarrassment, though I don't know how I managed to respond to the hubbub of greetings, especially when Mr. Hynes, the stranger, was presented.

He had been looking at me more intently than he knew, with dark blue brilliant eyes, and he flushed as he touched my hand, until I was glad to take refuge with Joy, who hovered about, eying me as if she still suspected some ruse on the part of Santa Claus.

"Joy, you know Cousin Nelly?" I said; and at sound of my voice, they all looked again at each other and then at me.

"Why, I can't believe my eyes, though Bake here said you'd altered. Altered!" twittered Aunt Frank. She turned indignantly upon the Judge, who wisely attempted no defense. "I didn't dream--Bake, here, never can tell a story straight. Have you--what is it? Nelly, dear, it's two years since I've seen you; of course you've--grown!"

But no amazement could long curb her hospitable instincts. Her incoherence vanished as she grasped at a practical consideration.

"But let Milly take you up stairs and get your things off," she said with an air as of one who solves problems.

"Are you truly Cothin Nelly?" Joy lisped. "All wight; come thee my twee."

Though she couldn't recognise me as the cousin of a few weeks earlier, the child was eager to claim me as a new friend. So I escaped with her and Milly to the nursery, where I stayed as long as I dared, letting my cheeks cool.

"The twee ith mine and Mamma'th," said Joy; "we're the only oneth young enough to have Christhmath twees, Papa thayth."

"Hoh, guess I'm younger'n Mamma, ain't I?" scoffed my other little cousin who had been sent to inquire into our delay. He is perhaps a dozen years old, is called "Boy" officially, and Timothy, Jr., in the family records, and--like Joy--wasn't in the least afraid of me, after five minutes' acquaintance.

Boy led me down to the others, but dinner was nearly over before I felt at ease. I'm not used to having at my back a statuesque servant--though this one was not too statuesque to be surprised by my appearance almost out of decorum. And I couldn't help knowing that every one wanted to look at me all the time, which was delicious, but embarrassing. I blushed and gave stupid answers when addressed, and even feared that I might show myself at fault in the etiquette of a city table. It was strange to have forks in so many cases where I've always used spoons. And, though of course I knew what the finger bowls were, I wasn't quite sure how to use them.