smiled, and the smile was
exactly in accord with her voice; it was weary and gentle. There was
not the slightest joy in it, only a submission and patience which
might evince a slight hope of joy to come.

"I've got so much to do I ought not to stop long," said Sylvia, "but
I thought I'd run in a minute."

"Walk right in," said Mrs. Ayres, and Sylvia followed her into the
sitting-room, which was quite charming, with a delicate flowered
paper and a net-work of green vines growing in bracket-pots, which
stood all about. There were also palms and ferns. The small room
looked like a bower, although it was very humbly furnished. Sylvia
sat down.

"You always look so cool in here," she said, "and it's a warm morning
for so early in the season."

"It's the plants and vines, I guess," replied Mrs. Ayres, sitting
down opposite Mrs. Whitman. "Lucy has real good luck with them."

"How is Lucy this morning?"

Mrs. Ayres wrinkled her forehead again. "She's in bed with a sick
headache," she said. "She has an awful lot of them lately. I'm afraid
she's kind of run down."

"Why don't you get a tonic?"

"Well, I have been thinking of it, but Dr. Wallace gives such
dreadful strong medicines, and Lucy is so delicate, that I have
hesitated. I don't know but I ought to take her to Alford to Dr.
Gilbert, but she doesn't want to go. She says it is too expensive,
and she says there's nothing the matter with her; but she has these
terrible headaches almost every other day, and she doesn't eat enough
to keep a sparrow alive, and I can't help being worried about her."

"It doesn't seem right," agreed Mrs. Whitman. "Last time I was here I
thought she didn't look real well. She's got color, a real pretty
color, but it isn't the right kind."

"That's just it," said Mrs. Ayres, wrinkling her forehead. "The
color's pretty, but you can see too plain where the red leaves off
and where the white begins."

"Speaking about color," said Mrs. Whitman, "I am going to ask you
something."

"What?"

"Do you really think Miss Farrel's color is natural?"

"I don't know. It looks so."

"I know it does, but I had it real straight that she keeps some pink
stuff that she uses in a box as bold as can be, right in sight on her
wash-stand."

"I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Ayres, in her weary,
gentle fashion. "I have heard, of course, that some women do use such
things, but none of my folks ever did, and I never knew anybody else
who di