he, I'm sure: perhaps she
will take pity on me.--You'll come, won't you? that's a dear. Run and
put on your hat. It's a splendid afternoon, and the Point's a very
interesting place if you happen to like old things. I don't care for
them myself; but they're all the fashion now, you know, and I dare say
you've caught the fever with the rest of the folks.--She can come, can't
she, dear Mrs. Gray?"

"I don't think she has any engagement," replied Mrs. Gray, trying not to
smile at the struggle with dismay that was going on in Candace's
countenance; "she likes driving, and it is a beautiful afternoon.--You
can go, can't you, Cannie?"

It was impossible on the spur of the moment to frame any excuse. Mrs.
Joy's eyes were full upon her; Cousin Kate gave no help; there seemed
nothing to do but to comply. Candace murmured something about
"Certainly,--very kind,--very happy," and went away to put on the red
hat, which went very well with the dress of red and white linen that she
happened to have on. It was a new one, which Mrs. Gray had bought for
warm days, and which Elizabeth had fitted and made. She wore a red rose
in her breast, and had a pair of gray gloves, and she looked very fresh
and girlish in this simple costume; but Mrs. Joy did not quite approve
of it.

"Why don't they fix the little thing up better?" she was thinking to
herself as she got into the carriage. "It's too bad. She'd be quite
nice-looking if she were a little more stylish. A light silk, now, or a
surah in two shades, like Berry's blue, would make quite a different
thing of her."

"You've been down on the Point before now, I suppose," she said as they
rolled smoothly along the Avenue.

"Yes, once I did. Cousin Kate took me with her one day to call on a
friend of hers, Miss Gisborne."

"Oh, yes, that queer old maid. I know they're very intimate, though I
confess I never could see what Mrs. Gray finds in her to like. She's so
eccentric, and so different from other people, and she wears such
extraordinary clothes."

"But she's very nice, and she tells the funniest stories, and her house
is ever so pretty," said Candace, rather at a loss to know what she
ought to say.

"Ah, indeed, is it? Inside, you mean. I don't think it amounts to much
outside, though people who have a mania for old houses rave about it, I
believe. I'm afraid I'm dreadfully modern in my tastes. I can't, for the
life of me, see any beauty in ceilings so low that you bump your head