y with a little sniff.

"Disgusting," she said with emphasis. "That woman will never see fifty
again, and she apes seventeen. For my part, I think, when women reach a
certain age they should not deck themselves with artificial flowers.
Flowers are for the young, not for poor worn-out, faded types of
humanity. Now you, Maria----"

"Oh, don't," said Miss Maria, stepping back a few paces in alarm, and
putting up her hand to her bonnet, "don't say that wallflowers aren't
allowable, Martha; I always did think that wallflowers were so
_passe_. That's why I chose them."

"Who's that now?" exclaimed Mrs. Butler. "My word, Maria, get quick
behind the curtain and peep! Give me the spy-glass; I'll look over your
head. Why, if it isn't--no--yes--it is, though--it's that young Captain
Bertram, a _most_ stylish young man! He looks elegant in flannels--quite
a noble face--I should imagine him to be the image of Julius
Caesar--there he comes--and Bee--Bee Meadowsweet with him."

"Just like her name," murmured Miss Peters; "just--just like her name,
bless her!"

The poor, withered heart of the little old maid quite swelled with love
and admiration as the beautiful girl, dressed simply all in white, with
roses on her cheeks, and sparkles in her eyes, walked to the scene of
the coming gayeties in the company of the acknowledged hero of the town.

"Poor Matty Bell, I pity her!" said Mrs. Butler. "Oh, it has been a
sickening sight the way the mother has gone on lately, perfectly
sickening; but she'll have her come down, poor woman, and I, for one,
will say, serve her right."

"We may as well be going, Martha," said Miss Peters.

"Well, I suppose so, since our betters have led the way. Now, Maria,
don't drag behind, and don't ogle me with your eyes more than you can
help. I have made up my mind to have a seat next to Mrs. Bertram at the
feast, and to bring her down a peg if I can. Now, let's come on."

The ladies left the house and joined the group of holiday-seekers, who
were all going in the direction of the Rectory. When they reached the
festive scene, the grounds were already thronged. Mr. Ingram was very
proud of his gardens and smoothly-kept lawns. He hated to see his velvet
swards trampled on and made bare by the tread of many feet. He disliked
the pet flowers in his greenhouses being pawed and smelt, and his trim
ribbon borders being ruthlessly despoiled. But on the day of the annual
treat he forgot all these prejudices. Th