among the group being Reva, Semna Diotha,—my nearest cousin,—and her father. Anvar stood on one side, calm, but pale, and with by no means the expression of a happy lover. While talking with me, the old lady was gently stroking the hair of Reva, who sat on a tabouret by her side.
"It seems but yesterday," she went on saying, after the first salutations had passed, "since your father—you are very like him, but handsomer—came to this house to take away our Osna. She was my youngest grandchild, and had always said she was going to stay with grandma all her life. But there comes a stranger, and grandma is forgotten. That is as it should be, children; nor would your elders, however loath to part with you, have it otherwise. Here, now, is little Reva comes with her pretty hair tied up,"—at these words Reva flushed, but made no protest,—"my child, I have pulled down your hair: let me tie it up."
"No," said Reva, giving her head a vigorous shake, so that the rich masses of hair fell behind her: "let it remain so meantime; it is much more comfortable."
The old lady gave her a searching look. She said nothing further on the subject, but, rising briskly from her chair, invited us into the garden to see the flowers and fruit. Here most of the company soon after took their leave. But Ialma, remembering something said by me on our way there, told our hostess that I would like to see her collection of portraits. While, under the old lady's direction, I was employed in arranging the apparatus, Reva had a hurried conference with Ialma. The latter upon her entrance took me aside to inform me that Reva had begged Anvar to let her ride home with Ialma.
