and on every line of her face. As usual, when excited, she found
her voice, which came out quite thin and sharp. "Well, I'm sure," she
repeated. "I wish you all luck, Lucy. Not that it's such a
condescension, oh, by no means. The doctor said the bedrooms were very
shabby in their furniture, and such a meal as those poor girls were
eating for breakfast. He said his heart quite ached for them. Nothing
but stale bread, and the name of butter, and tea like water bewitched.
He said he'd rather never have a child than see her put down to such
fare."

"Dear, dear, you don't say so," answered Mrs. Meadowsweet. "Bee, my
love, we must have those nice girls constantly to the Gray House, and
feed them up all we can. I'm very sorry to hear your news, Jessie. But
I'm afraid we can't wait to talk any longer now. Nothing could have been
more affable than Mrs. Bertram's letter, sent down by special messenger,
and written in a most stylish hand."

"You haven't got it in your pocket, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Morris.

"To be sure I have. You'd like to see it; well, here it is. You can let
me have it back to-morrow. Now, good-bye. Drive on, Davis."

The cab jumbled and rattled over the paving stones, and Mrs. Meadowsweet
lay back against the cushions, and fanned her hot face.

"I wonder if it's true about those poor girls being so badly fed," she
inquired of her daughter. "Dear, dear, and there's nothing young things
want like generous living. Well, it's grievous. When I think of the
quarts of milk I used to put into you, Bee, and the pounds and pounds of
the best beef jelly--jelly that you could fling over the house, for
thickness and solidity, and the fowls I had boiled down for you after
the measles--who's that coming down the street, Bee? Look, my love, I'm
a bit short-sighted. Oh, it's Miss Peters, of course. How are you, Miss
Peters? Hot day, isn't it? Bee and I are off to the Manor--special
invitation--letter--I lent it to Mrs. Morris. Oh, yes, to dinner. I have
my best cap in this band-box. What do you say? You'll look in
to-morrow--glad to see you. Drive on, Davis."

"Really, mother, if you stop to speak to every one we won't get to the
Manor to-night," gently expostulated Beatrice.

"Well, well, my love, but we don't go to see the Bertrams every day, and
when one feels more pleased and gratified than ordinary, it's nice to
get the sympathy of one's neighbors. I do think the people at Northbury
are very sympathetic, don't you,