sensitiveness to anything that fell
below her own standard of taste. She had yet to learn that there was a
broader culture than hers. No wonder she was bewildered as she listened
to Frances' frank chatter.

That this young person was very much of a chatterbox could not be
denied. Her father often said it would not take a Philadelphia lawyer to
find out all she knew, and on this occasion she had an interested
hearer.

"Emma and I think this is a lovely house," she remarked, as they went
down to lunch. "I like our flat," she added loyally, "only of course
there isn't so much room in it."

This, to her, made the chief difference,--more room, more things. Her
own home life had always been harmonious, had expressed grace and
refinement in a simpler way, indeed, but as truly as Mrs. Marvin's; and
so having always had the emphasis laid upon the best things, she felt no
embarrassment, but only a frank enjoyment in this beautiful house.

When lunch was over, Mrs. Marvin led the way to the library, where the
wood fire burned, and the little girl smiled down from above the mantle,
and a great bunch of American Beauties bent their stately heads over a
tall vase. What a combination of delights! Frances hung over the flowers
with such pleasure in her eyes that her hostess said: "Do you like
roses? You must take those with you when you go."

Mrs. Marvin took out a portfolio of photographs she thought might be
interesting, and they went over them together. She knew perfectly how to
be entertaining, and Frances enjoyed it very much, but when they came to
the last one she said: "Mrs. Marvin, won't you tell me now about that
portrait? I like it better than any picture I ever saw."

"Why, certainly, dear; that is my mother when she was a child. It is one
of my greatest treasures."

Frances felt disappointed. "Then she is not a little girl now," she
said.

"No; the picture was painted many years ago, in London, when my
grandfather was Minister to England. My mother was an only child."

"I am an only child, too," Frances remarked, her eyes fixed on the
portrait.

"Perhaps you will be interested to know that her name was the same as
your own."

"Was it? And your name, too, is Frances, isn't it?"

"Yes, we are three of a name," was Mrs. Marvin's answer.

"I suppose--" Frances hesitated.

"What, dear?"

"I was going to ask if the little girl was alive now."

"No; she lived to grow up and marry, and died while she was still