certain kind are apt to put
everything on their backs and their walls and floors. Of course such a
house here doesn't mean what it would in town." She examined the texture
of the carpet more critically, and the curtains; she had no shame about
a curiosity that made her daughter shrink.

"Don't, mamma!" pleaded the girl. "What if they should come?"

"They won't come," said Mrs. Pasmer; and her notice being called to
Alice, she made her take off the ribbon. "You're better without it."

"I'm so nervous I don't know what I'm doing," said Alice, removing it,
with a whimper.

"Well, I can't have you breaking down!" cried her mother warningly:
she really wished to shake her, as a culmination of her own conflicting
emotions. "Alice, stop this instant! Stop it, I say!"

"But if I don't like her?" whimpered Alice.

"You're not going to marry her. Now stop! Here, bathe your eyes; they're
all red. Though I don't know that it matters. Yes, they'll expect you to
have been crying," said Mrs. Pasmer, seeing the situation more and
more clearly. "It's perfectly natural." But she took some cologne on a
handkerchief, and recomposed Alice's countenance for her. "There, the
colour becomes you, and I never saw your eyes look so bright."

There was a pathos in their brilliancy which of course betrayed her to
the Mavering girls. It softened Eunice, and encouraged Minnie, who
had been a little afraid of the Pasmers. They both kissed Alice with
sisterly affection. Their father merely saw how handsome she looked, and
Dan's heart seemed to melt in his breast with tenderness.

In recognition of the different habits of their guests, they had dinner
instead of tea. The Portuguese cook had outdone himself, and course
followed course in triumphal succession. Mrs. Pasmer praised it all
with a sincerity that took away a little of the zest she felt in making
flattering speeches.

Everything about the table was perfect, but in a man's fashion, like
the rest of the house. It lacked the atmospheric charm, the otherwise
indefinable grace, which a woman's taste gives. It was in fact Elbridge
Mavering's taste which had characterised the whole; the daughters simply
accepted and approved.

"Yes," said Eunice, "we haven't much else to do; so we eat. And Joe does
his best to spoil us."

"Joe?"

"Joe's the cook. All Portuguese cooks are Joe."

"How very amusing!" said Mrs. Pasmer. "You must let me speak of your
grapes. I never saw anything so--well!-