is nice," said Louise.

"I hope you will be friends."

"Why not, Aunt? I haven't known much of my relations in the past, you
know, so it pleases me to find an aunt and a cousin at the same time.
I am sure I shall love you both. Let me fix your pillow--you do not
seem comfortable. There! Isn't that better?" patting the pillow
deftly. "I'm afraid you have needed more loving care than a paid
attendant can give you," glancing at old Martha Phibbs, who stood some
paces away, and lowering her voice that she might not be overheard.
"But for a time, at least, I mean to be your nurse, and look after
your wants. You should have sent for me before, Aunt Jane."

"Don't trouble yourself; Phibbs knows my ways, and does all that is
required," said the invalid, rather testily. "Run away, now, Louise.
The housekeeper will show you to your room. It's opposite Elizabeth's,
and you will do well to make her acquaintance at once. I shall expect
you both to dine with me at seven."

"Can't I stay here a little longer?" pleaded Louise. "We haven't
spoken two words together, as yet, and I'm not a bit tired or anxious
to go to my room. What a superb oleander this is! Is it one of your
favorites, Aunt Jane?"

"Run away," repeated the woman. "I want to be alone."

The girl sighed and kissed her again, stroking the gray hair softly
with her white hand.

"Very well; I'll go," she said. "But I don't intend to be treated as
a strange guest, dear Aunt, for that would drive me to return home at
once. You are my father's eldest sister, and I mean to make you love
me, if you will give me the least chance to do so."

She looked around her, enquiringly, and Aunt Jane pointed a bony
finger at the porch.

"That is the way. Phibbs will take you to Misery, the housekeeper, and
then return to me. Remember, I dine promptly at seven."

"I shall count the minutes," said Louise, and with a laugh and a
graceful gesture of adieu, turned to follow Martha into the house.

Jane Merrick looked after her with a puzzled expression upon her face.

"Were she in the least sincere," she muttered, "Louise might prove a
very pleasant companion. But she's not sincere; she's coddling me to
win my money, and if I don't watch out she'll succeed. The girl's a
born diplomat, and weighed in the balance against sincerity, diplomacy
will often tip the scales. I might do worse than to leave Elmhurst to
a clever woman. But I don't know Beth yet. I'll wait and see which
girl i