Rawdon was standing before the fire, but when she heard the door
open she turned her face toward it.

"Come here, Ethel Rawdon," she said, "and let me have a look at you."
And Ethel went to her side, laid her hand lightly on the old lady's
shoulder and kissed her cheek. "You do look middling well," she
continued, "and your dress is about as it should be. I like a girl to
dress like a girl--still, the sapphires. Are they necessary?"

"You would not say corals, would you, grandmother? I have those you gave
me when I was three years old."

"Keep your wit, my dear, for this evening. I should not wonder but you
might need it. Fred Mostyn is rather better than I expected. It was a
great pleasure to see him. It was like a bit of my own youth back again.
When you are a very old woman there are few things sweeter, Ethel."

"But you are not an old woman, grandmother."

Nor was she. In spite of her seventy-five years she stood erect at the
side of her grand-daughter. Her abundant hair was partly gray, but the
gray mingled with the little oval of costly lace that lay upon it, and
the effect was soft and fair as powdering. She had been very handsome,
and her beauty lingered as the beauty of some flowers linger, in fainter
tints and in less firm outlines; for she had never fallen from that
"grace of God vouchsafed to children," and therefore she had kept not
only the enthusiasms of her youth, but that sweet promise of the "times
of restitution" when the child shall die one hundred years old, because
the child-heart shall be kept in all its freshness and trust. Yes, in
Rachel Rawdon's heart the well-springs of love and life lay too deep for
the frosts of age to touch. She would be eternally young before she grew
old.

She sat down as Ethel spoke, and drew the girl to her side. "I hear your
friend is going to marry," she said.

"Dora? Yes."

"Are you sorry?"

"Perhaps not. Dora has been a care to me for four years. I hope her
husband may manage her as well as I have done."

"Are you afraid he will not?"

"I cannot tell, grandmother. I see all Dora's faults. Mr. Stanhope is
certain that she has no faults. Hitherto she has had her own way in
everything. Excepting myself, no one has ventured to contradict her.
But, then, Dora is over head and ears in love, and love, it is said,
makes all things easy to bear and to do."

"One thing, girls, amazes me--it is how readily women go to church and
promise to love, honor, and obey