altese lace adorning it,
surmounted her large, full-blown face. That face was all beams and
kindliness and good-temper, and had somehow the effect of making people
forget whether Mrs. Meadowsweet was vulgar or not.

She sat in her chair of state facing the garden, and her visitors, all
on the tip-toe of expectation, stationed themselves round her. The Bells
had taken possession of the Chesterfield sofa. By sitting rather widely
apart they managed to fill it; they always looked alike. To-night they
so exactly resembled peas in a pod that one had a sense of ache and
almost fatigue in watching them. This fatigue and irritation rose to
desperation when they spoke. The Bells were poor, and their dresses bore
decided signs of stint and poverty. They wore white muslin jackets, and
pale green skirts of a shining substance known as mohair. Their mother
fondly imagined that the shine and glitter of this fabric could not be
known from silk. It was harsh, however, and did not lie in graceful
folds, and besides, the poor little skirts lacked quantity.

The Bells had thin hair, and no knack whatever with regard to its
arrangement. They looked unprepossessing girls, but no matter. Beatrice
thought well of them. Mrs. Meadowsweet bestowed one or two broad glances
of approval upon the inseparable little trio, and their own small hearts
were dancing with expectation.

Would Bee, their darling, delightful, beautiful Bee, introduce them to
Captain Bertram? Would he speak to them and smile upon them? Would he
tell them stories of some of his gallant exploits? The Bells' round
faces seemed to grow plumper, and their saucer eyes fuller, as they
contemplated this contingency. What supreme bliss would be theirs if
Captain Bertram singled them out for attention? Already they were in
love with his name, and were quite ready to fall down in a phalanx of
three, and worship the hero of many imaginary fights.

Standing by the open window, and with no shyness or stiffness whatever
about them, Daisy and Polly Jenkins were to be seen. Daisy was a
full-blown girl with a rather loud voice, and a manner which was by some
considered very fascinating; for it had the effect of instantly taking
you, as it were, behind the scenes, and into her innermost confidence.

Daisy was rather good-looking, and was the adored of Albert Bell, the
little round-faced girls' brother. She was dressed in voluminous muslin
draperies, and was a decidedly large and comfortable-