her spring hat was ravishing. The aunt had never been
pretty; and, moreover, her bloom had gone, but she was well dressed,
and her thin figure was full of grace. She sat in her chair with
delicate erectness, the folds of her gray gown was disposed over her
supple length of limb with charming effect. She also had a sort of
eager, almost appealing amiability. It was as if she said:

"Yes, I know I am no longer young. I am not fair to see, but indeed I
mean well by you. I would do much for you. I even love you. Cannot
you love me for that?" and that was softly compelling.

Mrs. Anderson reflected that a man might easily admire either of
these women. Her manner, in spite of herself, cooled towards them.
She did not think of the third woman, who was married, except to ply
her with cake and tea and inquire for her husband and children. The
woman, after she had finished her cake and tea, sat sunken in her
corsets, under her loosely fitting black silk, and looked stupidly
amiable. She rose with a slight sigh of relief when at last the
others made a motion to go. She thought of her supper at home, and
the children long out of school. It was past supper-time for
Banbridge. The sun was quite low. An hour ago a little herd of cows
had pelted by in a cloud of dust, with great udders swinging
perilously, going home to be milked.

"That Flannigan boy always runs those cows home," said the aunt,
disapprovingly, as she passed the window.

"I have always heard it was bad for the milk," assented Mrs. Anderson.

Now that her callers were on the move, Mrs. Anderson was exceedingly
cordial. She said something further about the quality of the cream
obtained from the cows, and the aunt said yes, it was very good,
although so dear. The old lady kissed both the aunt and the niece
when they at last went out of the door, and said she was so glad that
she was at home, and begged them to come again. She stood in the door
watching them get into the coach. The young girl's face in the
window, with her beflowered hat, a rose crowned with roses, in the
dark setting of the window, was beautiful. Even the aunt's face,
older and more colorless, except for an unlovely flush of excitement,
was pathetically compelling and charmed. Mrs. Anderson, filling up
the doorway with her stately bulk, swept around by her soft black
draperies, her fair old face rising from a foam of lace, and
delicately capped with lace, on which was a knot of palest lavender,
stoo