ith Sevres cups, other tables with
processions of pug-dogs in precious china, snuff-boxes, patch-boxes;
chimney-piece crowded with porcelain figures and bits of old Dresden
ware; there was a great deal of carving and _or-moulu_,--but it all had
the air of being created and kept for company use, and deserted the
moment company went away. Mrs. Joy had only got so far in her art
education as this, that she bought everything which cost a great deal of
money and which her neighbors bought, and she never stopped to reason
about such minor points as taste, fitness, convenience, or the
adaptation of an article to her own particular needs.

Mrs. Joy was the very image of a prosperous woman, as she sat behind her
heavy silver coffee-pots and cream-jugs, reading the Sunday paper, to
get which her groom had ridden a couple of miles before breakfast. Her
very black hair was trained into a line of formal rings across her
forehead, which as yet scarcely showed a wrinkle. Her tightly laced
figure was almost as slender as her daughter's; and the hand sparkling
with diamonds, which held the paper, was white and youthful. Handsome
she certainly was; and people called her agreeable, for she talked a
great deal, in a noisy, lively way, and had a caressing manner for all
persons whom she thought it worth her while to caress. But her face was
hard; and when the society smile died out of it, it was neither
intelligent nor kindly. Mrs. Joy had been extremely pretty in her youth.
Berenice was like her; but Tom Joy the son resembled his father, who had
died three or four years before the opening of this little story.

Berry and her friend Ethel Curtis were talking about a sailing party
which they had planned for the next day.

"The Grays and the Halletts, and Julia Prime, that makes seven; mamma
for matron, eight; then there's Tom and George Rivington, and the two
Fosters. I can't think where we are to get the other three men."

"It isn't like a dinner party. The numbers need not be exactly equal,"
suggested Ethel.

"That's true, but it's a great deal better fun to have them equal. Men
hate to talk to two girls at once, and the girls who haven't any men to
talk to feel left out. Carrol Benton is coming up the end of the week; I
wish he were here now."

"I guess you'd better look up some other matron, and let me off," said
Mrs. Joy, laying down her newspaper. "I don't care much for sailing. I'm
so apt to feel a little sick, and that spoils a