g off their wraps and
gave themselves whole-heartedly over to the business of worship and
praise.

Little Mrs. Hunter, on whom matronhood and maternity sat with the effect
of large spectacles on a small child, inquired indulgently into the
activities of her friends. "Paper go nicely, Janey? Sorry I couldn't
go.--Yes, he was his muzzie's lamby-lamby-boy! Yes, he was!--And how many
pupils have you now, Sally?"

"Seventeen," said Sarah, thankfully, "and if everything goes well I'll
have my baby-grand in four years!"

Edward R. Hunter, unmistakable father of the glistening infant, came into
the room as she spoke and at once propounded a conundrum.

"Here's a good one, Jane! What's the difference between Nannie and Sally?
Give it up? Why, Sally'll have a baby-grand, but Nannie has a grand
baby!" The hot and breathless nursery rang with mirth; it seemed to Jane
that the very pink room was growing hotter and hotter, and it smelt
stiflingly of moist varnish and talcum powder and warm olive oil and
expensive soap, and the baby, sitting solemnly erect for his powdering, a
steadying hand at his fat back, looked like a pink celluloid Kewpie
leering at her knowingly. She heard herself saying with unconsidered
mendacity that she had an errand to run for her Aunt Lydia, and that
Sally mustn't hurry away on her account, and presently she was down in
the dim street again, with Edward R.'s jocose reproach that old Marty
Wetherby was fading away to skin and bone echoing in her ears. She went
dutifully for a magazine Miss Vail had mentioned and went home the "long
way 'round," so that she was barely in time for supper, which consisted
of three slices of cold boiled ham, shaved to a refined thinness and
spread upon an ancient and honorable platter of blue willow pattern ware,
hot biscuit, a small pot of honey and two kinds of preserves, delicate
cups of not-too-strong tea, sugar cookies and a pallid custard.

Her aunt was fond and proud over the afternoon's triumph but didn't quite
understand her having gone away so abruptly, and feared that Mrs.
Wetherby had been "just the least mite hurt about it."

"But then," she hastened to add, at Jane's impatient movement, "it'll be
all right, dear! You're going to see her to-night, and I know you
can--sort of smooth it over."

"I was thinking," said her niece, dark eyes on her plate, "that perhaps I
wouldn't go this evening, Aunt Lyddy."

"Not _go_? Not go to Mrs. _Wetherby's_? Why,--_Jane_