ckly austere divan,
and surveyed her friend with mingled surprise and concern.

"My dear Helen," she protested, "to my certain knowledge you have seen
your cousin only twice this summer, and surely it would not hurt you to
go to her reception."

"I disagree with you," replied Miss Maitland. "If there is any equity
in social obligations, it would decidedly hurt me."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Well, just because I take the trouble to watch a certain person select
her wall paper, is that any valid reason why I should shed upon that
person the effulgence of my eyes? Not that I am a sufferer from
effulgent eyes and need the services of an oculist--I'm only
quoting--but it seems to me awfully one-sided. I hate Cousin
Henrietta's receptions--dull, poky affairs--where Mrs. Parkinson weeps
into her teacup and the Misses Pyncheon are apt--most apt--to recite a
little Browning. I detest receptions, anyway, and if I have to go to
any more of them I shall scream. If you suggest my going to any,
Isabel, I shall scream at you!"

Miss Hurd smiled a superior smile.

"Why, my dear child," she said, "you know perfectly well that I don't
care an atom whether you go to your Cousin Henrietta's or not. But I
never knew you were so down on receptions. I hope you haven't
forgotten that next month you promised to receive with mother and me at
ours."

Helen wavered a moment, then obstinately continued.

"Yes, I have. I've forgotten it absolutely. If I ever said it, I must
have been suffering from febrile lesions,--if there are any such
things,--and I hereby wave the promise aside with the magnificent
gesture of a satrap ordering somebody to execution."

Isabel no longer smiled; her answer was a little acid and very distinct.

"Of course, if you don't want to help mother and me, no one will compel
you to, my dear. Do precisely as you like; do not think of us in any
way--we can easily get some one else."

Miss Maitland looked quickly up, and saw that there was a suspicious
brightness in her friend's eyes, whereby she understood that Isabel
felt actually hurt by her diatribe against the social dragon and his
works--at least when his works were interwoven with Isabel's own
concerns. And because Helen was tender-hearted under all her social
armor, and because she and Isabel were fonder of one another than one
would have thought possible, considering the diversities between them,
she was smitten with swift compunction and hast