ir straight back and prim when she was thirty-five. She thought it
very probable if that letter did not come tomorrow.

From Aunt Beatrice's hair Margaret's eyes fell to Aunt Beatrice's
face. She gave a little jump. Had Aunt Beatrice been crying? Margaret
sat bolt upright.

"Aunt Beatrice, did you want to go to that party?" she demanded
explosively. "Now tell me the truth."

"I did," said Aunt Beatrice weakly. Margaret's sudden attack fairly
startled the truth out of her. "It is very silly of me, I know, but I
did want to go. I didn't care about a new dress. I'd have been quite
willing to wear my grey silk, and I could have fixed the sleeves. What
difference would it have made? Nobody would ever have noticed me, but
Bella thought it wouldn't do."

She paused long enough to give a little sob which she could not
repress. Margaret made use of the opportunity to exclaim violently,
"It's a shame!"

"I suppose you don't understand why I wanted to go to this particular
party so much," went on Aunt Beatrice shyly. "I'll tell you why--if
you won't laugh at me. I wanted to see John Reynolds--not to talk to
him--oh, I dare say he wouldn't remember me--but just to see him.
Long ago--fifteen years ago--we were engaged. And--and--I loved him so
much then, Margaret."

"You poor dear!" said Margaret sympathetically. She reached over and
patted her aunt's hand. She thought that this little bit of romance,
long hidden and unsuspected, blossoming out under her eyes, was
charming. In her interest she quite forgot her own pet grievance.

"Yes--and then we quarrelled. It was a dreadful quarrel and it was
about such a trifle. We parted in anger and he went away. He never
came back. It was all my fault. Well, it is all over long ago and
everybody has forgotten. I--I don't mind it now. But I just wanted to
see him once more and then come quietly away."

"Aunt Beatrice, you are going to that party yet," said Margaret
decisively.

"Oh, it is impossible, my dear."

"No, it isn't. Nothing is impossible when I make up my mind. You must
go. I'll drag you there by main force if it comes to that. Oh, I have
such a jolly plan, Auntie. You know my black and yellow dinner
dress--no, you don't either, for I've never worn it here. The folks at
home all said it was too severe for me--and so it is. Nothing suits me
but the fluffy, chuffy things with a tilt to them. Gil--er--I
mean--well, yes, Gilbert always declared that dress made me look like