Like the cat transformed to a lady, who always showed her feline origin at the sight of a mouse, Ariana seemed always to return to childhood when in company with Archie and Etta. Mrs. Daley might as well have set a monkey to keep them out of mischief, for down dropped the moderator on the floor beside the baby-house, and commenced twisting the napkins into most ludicrous imitations of humanity. Etta finding that while her aunty was thus employed, she could get a nice chance at playing with her hair, slily drew out the comb and fell to “turling it” over her little fingers, while Archie clapped his hands and danced about in wild delight at the beauty of the napkin ladies and gentlemen—Hark! there was a footstep in the hall—no! two. The door opened and the Professor, with scarcely a glance at the occupants of the room, thrust into it a tall, fine-looking stranger, and merely saying, “My sister-in-law, Cousin Arthur,” retreated.
Ariana was so much amused at this strange introduction of the visiter, that she scarcely thought of her own disordered appearance.
“So, brother Madison has ejected you, sir, from his study at once,” she said smiling. “His way of making people completely at home is by turning them out of his own door. Do take a seat with us children, and my sister will be here presently.”
Arthur Grayson had a great respect for his cousin, the Professor, having never seen him in domestic life, and only knowing his high reputation among the scientific men of the day. He was ignorant of the reason why Ariana spoke in so disrespectful a tone of so near a connection, and it seemed a want of politeness.
“No beauty can atone for such rudeness,” he thought to himself, but replied courteously, “My cousin probably knew what society I should find most entertaining, and I am glad that he did not allow me to trespass upon his time.”
Before Ariana could answer this remark, Jane emerged from a staircase leading to the kitchen, with a bowl in her hand, exclaiming, “Do, Ariana, stir up this cake.”
In her surprise at the sight of the stranger, the bowl slipped from her hand and fell on the floor, scattering its yet fluid contents in every direction. Our pretty man-hater turned mischievously toward Arthur Grayson, to observe how he bore the bespattering of the very elegant suit of broadcloth in which his unexceptionable form was enveloped, but instead of betraying any marks of irritation, he said with perfect self-command and good-humor, “I presume that the dispenser of such good things can only be that Lady Bountiful, my Cousin Jane, of whose open-handed hospitality I have often heard.”