wistful gleam in Aunt Milly's eyes made Nancy lean over and kiss her
again. At that moment the door opened and Aunt Sabrina walked in.
Then it seemed to Nancy as though a shadow crossed Miss Milly's face.
The glow in her eyes died completely. She seemed to shrink back among
the cushions.

"Oh, you have met our niece," Aunt Sabrina said in her cold voice and
with no curiosity as to how it had happened.

Nancy looked at Aunt Milly and Aunt Milly's glance seemed to say:
"Please don't tell her I peeked through the blinds." Aloud she
answered meekly: "I told her we were glad she had come!"

Aunt Sabrina nodded as though to approve such action. Her eyes turned
around the room.

"Is there anything you want done? B'lindy's washed the other covers
for your cushions, but they aren't dry enough to iron. The color
didn't run a bit--they'll be more sensible than those white ones, for
they won't be needing washing all the time, and B'lindy has enough to
do!"

"Oh, yes, they'll be more sensible," Miss Milly agreed wearily. "No, I
don't want anything."

There were two or three moments of silence. Aunt Sabrina went about
the room straightening a picture here, a "tidy" there. Nancy watched
her with angry eyes--what _was_ there about her that had killed that
precious glow in poor little Miss Milly?

She rose abruptly. "May I go to my room? I want to write a letter."
Miss Sabrina said, "Why, of course, Anne," and Miss Milly flashed a
little ghost of a smile that entreated: "You see what life is like for
me, so please, _please_ come again."

Upon Nancy's face, as she closed her own door behind her, was a mixture
of relief, indignation and apprehension. And a little of each of these
emotions crept into the lines of the letter that--to give vent to all
that was bursting within her--she dashed off to Claire.

"---- You'd just better believe that if I had that precious darling,
Anne Leavitt, back in our beloved tower room I'd tell her that all the
fortunes in the world and all the suffering Russians wouldn't hire me
to spend one more day with her 'family.'

"And yet, Claire, darling, it's so _dreadful_ that it's funny. I just
wonder that I haven't been scared _pink!_ Can you picture your little
Nancy surrounded by mahogany, so old that it fairly screams at you,
that it was brought over on the _Mayflower_ and walls as high as the
Library tower (please subtract poetical license) and just oodles of
Leavitt traditions--th