his mind, for after carefully closing it, he stood and stared at it with a very perplexed face.
"Never saw such a lively door, you know!" he repeated, finally sitting down on the piano-stool, and folding both arms across one knee, letting a hand droop dismally on either side, while he looked alternately at Miss Archer, Nattie, and the part of the room mentioned, at which the former laughed, and then, with the kind intention of, drawing his mind from the subject of his forced appearance, suggested a game of cards.
"Then we shall have to have one more person, shall we not?" Nattie asked, at this proposition.
"It would be better," replied Miss Archer. "Let me see—Mrs. Simonson does not play"
"Mr. Norton does!" interrupted Quimby, forgetting the door, in his eagerness to be of service. "I—I would willingly ask him to join us, if you will allow me!"
"That queer young artist who lodges here, you mean?" inquired Miss Archer.
"Oh! But he is a dreadful Bohemian!" commented Nattie, distrustfully, before Quimby could reply.
"Is he?" laughed Miss Archer. "Then ask him in by all means! I am something of a Bohemian myself, and shall be delighted to meet a kindred
