t first too occupied with the idea that Mademoiselle was
coming that very evening to think about the friend at all, or to wonder
whom it could be; she hastened with the news to Sophia Jane, who had now
so far improved in strength that she was allowed to sit up a little
while every afternoon. She was delighted at the idea of the visit, and
at once made a suggestion about the friend which filled Susan with
dismay, it was this:

"Perhaps, as she's so fond of Mrs Jones, she means to bring her."

What an idea! and yet when Susan thought it over it did not seem
unlikely, for Mademoiselle always spoke with great admiration of "Madame
Jones" as an acquaintance to be much valued. "A noble-hearted being,"
she had called her more than once. Susan wondered what Margaretta and
Nanna would think of her if she came. They always talked so much about
appearance, and manner, and dress, and if they disapproved of it they
said, "rather common." They would certainly call Madame Jones "rather
common," for they would not understand about her noble heart; and indeed
Susan remembered she should not have done so herself without
Mademoiselle's explanation. It was a pity that when people had noble
hearts it did not make them look noble outside, and she ended by hoping
very much that Madame Jones would not come.

It was between four and five o'clock in the afternoon of the expected
visit, and the little girls were alone together. Aunt Hannah had
promised that Mademoiselle should have a snug tea with them upstairs if
she came alone, so that they were awaiting her arrival with some
anxiety. Susan could not help a little secret hope now that she would
_not_ be alone, so that the dreaded meeting might be deferred. Sophia
Jane had made no further reference to the collar, but Susan felt as much
abashed in her presence as any prisoner before his judge, and sometimes
found it difficult to talk. She gave a timid look at her; she was in a
large arm-chair close to the fire, very much covered up and surrounded
by pillows, in the midst of which she looked like a small white mouse in
a red-flannel gown. Her features were sharpened by illness, and she
still insisted on wearing Aunt Hannah's cap; but though all this made
her more like an old woman than a child, there was to-day a softened
light in her blue eyes which Susan noticed at once. She had never seen
it there before. She took courage.

"Do you suppose," she said, glancing at black Dinah, "t