. There was not even comfort. The chairs
were as new and shining as chairs could be; there was a "mission style"
rocker, a golden-oak rocker, a cherry rocker, heavily upholstered.
There was a walnut drop-head sewing-machine on which a pink saucer of
some black liquid fly-poison stood. There was a "body Brussels" rug on
the floor. Lastly, there was an oak sideboard, dusty, pretentious, with
its mirror cut into small sections by little, empty shelves.

It all seemed like a nightmare to poor little Mrs. Phelps, as she sat
listening to the delighted reminiscences of the young people, who
presently reviewed their entire acquaintanceship for her benefit. It
seemed impossible that this was her Austin, this big-voiced, brown,
muscular young man! Austin had always been slender, and rather silent.
Austin had always been so close to her, so quick to catch her point of
view. He had been nearer her even than Cornelia--

Cornelia! Her heart reached Cornelia's name with a homesick throb.
Cornelia would be home from her club or concert or afternoon at cards
now,--Mrs. Phelps did not worry herself with latitude or
longitude,--she would be having tea in the little drawing-room, under
the approving canvases of Copley and Gilbert Stuart. Her mother could
see Cornelia's well-groomed hands busy with the Spode cups and the
heavy old silver spoons; Cornelia's fine, intelligent face and smooth
dark head well set off by a background of rich hangings and soft
lights, polished surfaces, and the dull tones of priceless rugs.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, rousing herself.

"I asked you if you didn't have a cat-fit when you realized that Aus
was going to marry a girl you never saw?" Manzanita repeated with
friendly enjoyment. Mrs. Phelps gave her only a few seconds' steady
consideration for answer, and then pointedly addressed her son.

"It sounds very strange to your mother, to have you called anything but
Austin, my son," she said.

"Manz'ita can't spare the time," he explained, adoring eyes on the
girl, whose beauty, in the level light, was quite startling enough to
hold any man's eyes.

"And you young people are very sure of yourselves, I suppose?" the
mother said, lightly, after a little pause. Austin only laughed
comfortably, but Manzanita's eyes came suddenly to meet those of the
older woman, and both knew that the first gun had been fired. A color
that was not of the sunset burned suddenly in the girl's round cheeks.
"She's not glad