happiest day of my life when this sort of thing is
over," she muttered. "Thank heaven, he can't live much longer!"

"Hush!" whispered her prudent husband; Miss Webster had appeared.

The two women kissed each other affectionately. Everybody liked Miss
Webster. Mrs. Holt, an imposing person, with the rigid backbone of the
newly rich, held her hostess's hand in both her own as she assured her
that the storm had not visited California which could keep her from one
of dear Dr. Webster's delightful dinners. As she went up-stairs to lay
aside her wrappings she relieved her feelings by a facial pucker
directed at a painting, on a matting panel, of the doctor in the robes
of Japan.

The other guests arrived, and after making the pilgrimage up-stairs,
seated themselves in the front parlor to slide up and down the
horse-hair furniture and await the entrance of the doctor. The room was
funereal. The storm-ridden trees lashed the bare dripping windows. The
carpet was threadbare. White crocheted tidies lent their emphasis to the
hideous black furniture. A table, with marble top, like a graveyard
slab, stood in the middle of the room. On it was a bunch of wax flowers
in a glass case. On the white plastered walls hung family photographs in
narrow gilt frames. In a conspicuous place was the doctor's diploma. In
another, Miss Webster's first sampler. "The first piano ever brought to
California" stood in a corner, looking like the ghost of an ancient
spinet. Miss Williams half expected to find it some day standing on
three legs, resting the other.

Miss Webster sat on a high-backed chair by the table, nervously striving
to entertain her fashionable guests. The women huddled together to keep
warm, regardless of their expensive raiment. The men stood in a corner,
reviling the mid-day dinner in prospect. Miss Williams drifted into a
chair and gazed dully on the accustomed scene. She had looked on it
weekly, with barely an intermission, for a quarter of a century. With a
sensation of relief, so sharp that it seemed to underscore the hateful
monotony of it all, she observed that there was a young person in the
company. As a rule, neither threats nor bribes could bring the young to
Webster Hall. Then she felt glad that the young person was a man. She
was in no mood to look on the blooming hopeful face of a girl.

He was a fine young fellow, with the supple lean figure of the college
athlete, and a frank attractive face. He stood with his