ered, with a tender little laugh:

"Before you begin pitying us, dearest, you can--can just remember that
other women's daughters haven't been given--a mother like you." And
then, because, just like a boy, she felt embarrassed at her own
emotion, and the tears that had gathered in her eyes, she said briskly:

"If anyone should ask me my candid opinion, I'd say that I'm rather
pleased with myself--only some inner voice tells me that I'm not
completely hooked. Here, Mother----" By means of an excruciating
contortion she managed to indicate a small gap in the back of her dress
just between the shoulder blades.

"You do look awfully nice, Nancy," commented Alma; she paused
reflectively a moment, and then added, "You know, I suppose that at
first glance most people would say I was--was the prettier, you
know--because I'm sort of doll-baby-looking, and pink and white, like a
French bonbon; but an artist would think that you were really
beautiful--I hit people in the eye, like a magazine cover, but you grow
on them slowly like a--a Rembrandt or something."

"Whew! We've certainly been throwing each other bouquets broadcast
to-night," laughed Nancy, who was tremendously pleased, nevertheless.
"You'd better put your cloak on, Alma, and stop turning my head around
backwards with your unblushing flattery. Isn't that our coach now?"

The sound of wheels on the wet gravel and the shambling cloppity-clop
of horses' hoofs, had indeed announced the arrival of the "coach."

"Darn it, that idiotic Peterson has sent us the most decrepit old nag
in his stable," remarked Alma, looking out of the window as she slid
her bare arms into the satin-lined sleeves of her wrap. "I think he
calls her 'Dorothea,' which means the 'Gift of God.'"

"She looks like an X-ray picture of a baby dinosaur. I hope to heaven
she won't fall to pieces before we get within walking distance of the
Porterbridges'," said Nancy. "I think that so-called carriage she has
attached to her must be the original chariot Pharaoh used when he drove
after the Israelites."

In a gay mood, the two sisters climbed into the ancient coupe, which
smelt strongly of damp hay, and jounced away behind the erratic
Dorothea, who started off at a mad gallop and then settled abruptly
into her characteristic amble.

A light, gentle, steady rain pattered against the windows, which
chattered like the teeth of an old beggar on a wintry day. The two
girls, deliciously nervous, w