aid her polished
weapons by and given herself over to the delights of my sprightly
chatter. Rodney's the only son and the only child, and one cannot
blame her for being a bit choosey! Harrison's pater, however, seemed
to think that he could bear up very cheerfully under such a
contingency--charmingly cordial, the dear old thing! Rodney won't be
nearly so nice at his age because he's come up in a less gracious
period.

But at that he'll be very nice! He is now!

CHAPTER XII

Before the end of her second year in New York, many things, grave and
gay, came to pass. Sarah Farraday came down for a fortnight of operas and
concerts and went home to spread the marvels of Jane's full and glowing
life over the Vermont village; Emma Ellis reluctantly gave up her room at
Mrs. Hills' and became resident superintendent of the Hope House
Settlement, and Michael Daragh took his noon meal there. Jane went home
twice for little visits and found changes even there,--the Teddy-bear,
now trudging sturdily about in rompers, had a small sister, and Nannie
Slade Hunter was prettier than ever, if a trifle too rotund, and Edward
R., very prosperous and pleased with himself, had bought his wife an
electric coupe, in which to take his offspring for a safe and opulent
airing. Martin Wetherby, Assistant Cashier, had somehow put youth aside.
His stoutness had closed in on him like an enemy. His mother admitted to
Jane that he did not take sufficient exercise. "He doesn't seem to ...
care," she said, and looked pointedly away. To herself she put it
dramatically, with great relish; never, to the day of her death, would
she forgive the girl who had ruined her son's life. Jane wished with all
her good-natured heart that Marty would marry, happily and handsomely--it
would be such a relief to have Mrs. Wetherby complacently triumphant
instead of heavily reproachful. And even Sarah Farraday never referred to
him as other than, "Poor old Marty." Jane had her moments of wishing that
they might, in village parlance, "make a match of it," but they were
moments only. Sarah was much too fine; she must find Sarah a suitor of
parts, somehow, somewhere.

It was during the second of her visits home that Miss Lydia Vail died.
There was no dreariness of illness or misery of suffering; she died
exactly as she had lived, plumply and pleasantly, in the plump and
pleasant faith that was hers, and Jan