dge, in the unenthusiastic tone
with which the mother of a rather plain daughter will praise the beauty
of another woman's daughter.

"Hum. Well, that's distinctly _something_. I really couldn't work up
any heartfelt interest in them if they were ugly--though, of course, I
understand that beauty is only skin deep, and handsome is as handsome
does, and all that--whoever invented those saws must have been
unbearably ugly--I've always suspected that it was some plain, jealous
old wife of King Solomon who got very philosophical in her old age.
Now, I'd really like to know what little Lallie Prescott is going to do
with them."

Mrs. Porterbridge gave a dry, affected little laugh, looking at Alma,
who was waltzing again with the obviously infatuated Frank Barrows.

"Well, I imagine that she is going to do all that she can to marry them
off as advantageously as possible, and I dare say that both of them----"

"Now, don't say anything cattish, my dear," interrupted the old lady,
quite sharply, a sudden coldness routing the twinkle in her merry eyes.
"I always know when you are going to say something that will annoy me,
and nothing annoys me more than to hear an older woman say anything
unkind about a young girl. I tell you this because I'm sure that you
don't want to make me angry. If you are trying to tell me that Lallie
Prescott is a schemer in regard to the future of her two daughters,
why, I should be very much surprised to learn anything else. We are
all schemers for our children--and just as in love and war, we consider
everything fair so long as it works for their advantage. But----"

Nancy, her cheeks burning, heard no more. In a last desperate effort
at escape, she turned and fled unseen through the nearest doorway.

At first she did not realize where she was; then she discovered that
she had chanced upon a veritable haven of refuge, a large, quiet room,
cosily lighted by a reading-lamp, furnished with huge, paternal-looking
armchairs and divans, and lined on three of its walls from floor to
ceiling with whole regiments of books. The fourth wall was monopolized
by a great stone fireplace, where three or four tree-trunks smouldered
softly, popping every now and then into small explosions of ruddy
sparks. The smell of leather, of wood smoke, and even the delicate
musty smell of the rich, yellowed paper of old books mingled with the
hazy fragrance of a Turkish cigarette. Nancy was too much concerned
with h