Miss Howard was only sixteen, and couldn't help admiring Mr.
Stanford, or wishing she were her brother George, and with him all day.
The March day darkened slowly down.

The sun fell low and dropped out of sight behind the bright, frozen river, in a glory of crimson and purple.
The hues of the sunset died, the evening star shone steel-blue and bright in the night-sky, and the two girls stood by the window watching when the gentlemen returned.

There was just light enough left to see them plainly as they drew near the house, their skates slung over their arms; but Mr.George Howard came in for very little of their regards.
"Handsome fellow!" said Miss Howard, her eyes sparkling.
"Who ?" said Rose, carelessly, as if her heart was not beating time to the word.

"Reginald ?" "Yes; he is the handsomest man I ever saw." Rose laughed--a rather forced laugh, though.
"Don't fall in love with my handsome brother-in-law, Em.

Kate won't like it." "They are to be married next June, are they not ?" asked Emily, not noticing the insinuation, save by a slight colour, which the twilight hid.
"So they say." "They will be a splendid-looking pair.