"I do not seem
to get a bit wiser or better behaved, do I, for all Mrs. Appleton and
Ram Juna, and even your lovely high-bred mother? Dick, do you despise
me!"

"Despise! Why I love and love you and love you all over," said Dick.

CHAPTER XVII

GRAPE-SHOT

Mrs. Quincy, in her solitary confinement, unloved and complaining, might
be considered a figure either repulsive or pathetic, according to the
onlooker's point of view. Fortunately there are always a few big enough
at heart to turn towards the world a face of affection rather than of
criticism, to whom woe appeals more than vulgarity.

So, once in a while in her busy life, Mrs. Lenox found time to drop in
as the bearer of a cheerful word and a friendly look to the ugly little
apartment where Mrs. Quincy lived in the third story height of domestic
felicity.

On an April afternoon she came, like a dark-eyed Flora, her hands loaded
with daffodils that might bring a glow of the beauty of spring even to
an inartistic spirit. The front door stood open, and a flat has an
unrelenting way of laying bare all the skeletons that find no closet
room. Mrs. Lenox surprised a scene of domestic economy in the tiny
parlor. The curtains had been taken down for fear they would fade, and a
large piece of newspaper lay where the sunlight struck the carpet. In
the middle of the room sat Mrs. Quincy, and before her on a kitchen
chair stood a little tub of foamy soap-suds. A maid was stationed at
hand with a bar of soap and a bottle of ammonia, and the steam of homely
cleanliness filled the air.

"Good gracious, I declare!" ejaculated Mrs. Quincy, "if it ain't Mrs.
Lenox! Come right in. I'm just washin' out my under-flannels and my
stockin's. I can't bear the slovenly ways of servants, and it's only
myself as can do 'em to suit myself. There, Sarah, you take the things
away, and I'll let you rinse 'em out this once. And mind you do it good.
Be sure to use four rinsin's. And soft water, mind. And hand me a towel
to wipe off my hands. It's real good of you to come and see a forlorn
old woman, that I know can't be much pleasure to you, Mrs. Lenox. There
ain't many that takes the trouble. And yet time was when I was
considered as good-lookin' as that ungrateful daughter of mine, that I
slaved for for years. Put them flowers in water, Sarah. I guess a
butter jar's the only thing I got that's big enough to hold them."

Mrs. Lenox sat down, wondering if time and life could ever tr