There was white chiffon upon
the line, but all the doors were locked. Doctor Ralph was not there,
either, and even the kitten was not in sight, so, regretfully, Araminta
went home again.

Throughout the day, Miss Mehitable did not speak to her erring niece,
but Araminta felt it to be a relief, rather than a punishment. In the
afternoon, the emancipated young woman put on her best gown--a white,
cross-barred muslin which she had made herself. It was not Sunday, and
Araminta was forbidden to wear the glorified raiment save on occasions
of high state.

She added further to her sins by picking a pink rose--Miss Mehitable
did not think flowers were made to pick--and fastening it coquettishly
in her brown hair. Moreover, Araminta had put her hair up loosely,
instead of in the neat, tight wad which Miss Mehitable had forced upon
her the day she donned long skirts. When Miss Mehitable beheld her
transformed charge she would have broken her vow of silence had not the
words mercifully failed. Aunt Hitty's vocabulary was limited, and she
had no language in which to express her full opinion of the wayward
one, so she assumed, instead, the pose of a suffering martyr.

The atmosphere at the table, during supper, was icy, even though it was
the middle of June. Thorpe noticed it and endeavoured to talk, but was
not successful. Miss Mehitable's few words, which were invariably
addressed to him, were so acrid in quality that they made him nervous.
The Reverend Austin Thorpe, innocent as he was of all intentional
wrong, was made to feel like a criminal haled to the bar of justice.

But Araminta glowed and dimpled and smiled. Her eyes danced with
mischief, and the colour came and went upon her velvety cheeks. She
took pains to ask Aunt Hitty for the salt or the bread, and kept up a
continuous flow of high-spirited talk. Had it not been for Araminta,
the situation would have become openly strained.

Afterward, she began to clear up the dishes as usual, but Miss
Mehitable pushed her out of the room with a violence indicative of
suppressed passion. So, humming a hymn at an irreverent tempo,
Araminta went out and sat down on the front porch, spreading down the
best rug in the house that she might not soil her gown. This, also,
was forbidden.

When the dishes were washed and put away, Miss Mehitable came out, clad
in her rustling black silk and her best bonnet. "Miss Lee," she said
very coldly, "I am going out."

"All r