ired Mrs. Lapham.
"Is she as delicate as ever?"

"She seems to be rather better since we returned." And now Mrs. Corey,
as if forced to the point, said bunglingly that the young ladies had
wished to come with her, but had been detained. She based her
statement upon Nanny's sarcastic demand; and, perhaps seeing it topple
a little, she rose hastily, to get away from its fall. "But we shall
hope for some--some other occasion," she said vaguely, and she put on a
parting smile, and shook hands with Mrs. Lapham and Penelope, and then,
after some lingering commonplaces, got herself out of the house.

Penelope and her mother were still looking at each other, and trying to
grapple with the effect or purport of the visit, when Irene burst in
upon them from the outside.

"O mamma! wasn't that Mrs. Corey's carriage just drove away?"

Penelope answered with her laugh. "Yes! You've just missed the most
delightful call, 'Rene. So easy and pleasant every way. Not a bit
stiff! Mrs. Corey was so friendly! She didn't make one feel at all as
if she'd bought me, and thought she'd given too much; and mother held
up her head as if she were all wool and a yard wide, and she would just
like to have anybody deny it."

In a few touches of mimicry she dashed off a sketch of the scene: her
mother's trepidation, and Mrs. Corey's well-bred repose and polite
scrutiny of them both. She ended by showing how she herself had sat
huddled up in a dark corner, mute with fear.

"If she came to make us say and do the wrong thing, she must have gone
away happy; and it's a pity you weren't here to help, Irene. I don't
know that I aimed to make a bad impression, but I guess I
succeeded--even beyond my deserts." She laughed; then suddenly she
flashed out in fierce earnest. "If I missed doing anything that could
make me as hateful to her as she made herself to me----" She checked
herself, and began to laugh. Her laugh broke, and the tears started
into her eyes; she ran out of the room, and up the stairs.

"What--what does it mean?" asked Irene in a daze.

Mrs. Lapham was still in the chilly torpor to which Mrs. Corey's call
had reduced her. Penelope's vehemence did not rouse her. She only
shook her head absently, and said, "I don't know."

"Why should Pen care what impression she made? I didn't suppose it
would make any difference to her whether Mrs. Corey liked her or not."

"I didn't, either. But I could see that she was just as nervous as