the paper but not the house. Miss Anna
was averse to all odor-bearing things natural or artificial. The
perfect triumph of her nose was to perceive absolutely nothing.
The only trial to her in cooking was the fact that so often she
could not make things taste good without making them smell good.

In the course of time, bending over a sheet of this note paper,
with an expression of high nasal disapproval. Miss Anna had
written the following note:

"A. Hardage, Esq., presents the compliments of the season to Miss
Crane and begs the pleasure of her company to the ball. The
aforesaid Hardage, on account of long intimacy with the specified
Crane, hopes that she (Crane) will not object to riding alone at
night in a one-horse rockaway with no side curtains. Crane to be
hugged on the way if Hardage so desires--and Hardage certainly will
desire. Hardage and Crane to dance at the ball together while
their strength lasts."

Having posted this letter, Miss Anna went off to her orphan and
foundling asylum where she was virgin mother to the motherless,
drawing the mantle of her spotless life around little waifs
straying into the world from hidden paths of shame.

X

It was past one o'clock on the night of the ball.

When dew and twilight had fallen on the green labyrinths of
Marguerite's yard, the faintest, slenderest moon might have been
seen bending over toward the spot out of drapery of violet cloud.
It descended through the secluded windows of Marguerite's room and
attended her while she dressed, weaving about her and leaving with
her the fragrance of its divine youth passing away. Then it
withdrew, having appointed a million stars for torches.

Matching the stars were globe-like lamps, all of one color, all
of one shape, which Marguerite had had swung amid the interlaced
greenery of trees and vines: as lanterns around the gray bark huts
of slow-winged owls; as sun-tanned grapes under the arches of the
vine-covered summer-house; as love's lighthouses above the reefs
of tumbling rose-bushes: all to illumine the paths which led to
nooks and seats. For the night would be very warm; and then
Marguerite--but was she the only one?

The three Marguerites,--grandmother, mother, and
daughter,--standing side by side and dressed each like each as
nearly as was fitting, had awaited their guests. Three high-born
fragile natures, solitary each on the stem of its generation; not
made for blasts and rudeness. They ha