fore she could pass there came a kind
of joyous whoop from within, a swishing of skirts toward her, and she
was caught in the arms of Charmian, who kissed her again and again, and
cried out over her goodness in coming.

"Why, didn't you expect me?" Cornelia asked bluntly.

"Yes, but I was just pretending you wouldn't come, or something had
happened to keep you, so that I could have the good of the revulsion
when you did come, and feel that it was worth all I had suffered. Don't
you like to do that?"

"I don't believe I ever did it," said Cornelia.

"That's what makes you so glorious," Charmian exulted. "You don't
_need_ to do such things. You're equal to life as it comes. But I have
to prepare myself for it every way I can. Don't you see?"

She led her, all embraced, into the drawing-room, where she released
her to the smooth welcome of Mrs. Maybough. There was no one else in
the vast, high room which was lit with long windows and darkened again
with long, thick curtains, but was still light enough to let Cornelia
see the elaborate richness of Mrs. Maybough's dress and the simple
richness of Charmian's. She herself wore her street-dress and she did
not know whether she ought to keep her hat on or not; but Charmian said
she must pour tea with her, and she danced Cornelia down the splendid
length of the three great salons opening into each other along the
front of the apartment, toward her own room where she said she must
leave it. The drawing-room was a harmony of pictures so rich and soft,
and rugs so rich and soft, that the colors seemed to play from wall to
floor and back again in the same mellow note; the dimness of the
dining-room was starred with the glimmer of silver and cut-glass and
the fainter reflected light of polished mahogany; the library was a
luxury of low leather chairs and lounges, lurking window-seats,
curtained in warm colors, and shelves full of even ranks of books in
French bindings of blue and green leather. There was a great carved
library table in front of the hearth where a soft-coal fire flickered
with a point or two of flame; on the mantel a French clock of classic
architecture caught the eye with the gleam of its pendulum as it
vibrated inaudibly. It was all extremely well done, infinitely better
done than Cornelia could have known. It was tasteful and refined, with
the taste and refinement of the decorator who had wished to produce the
effect of long establishment and well-bred permanen