le or no color because I am always shut
up in hot rooms, and because I miss the open-air life to which I was
accustomed."

Mrs. Carnegie tried to smile, but a frown came between her brows.

"That means," she said, "that you would like to go out. You would leave
your poor friend in solitude."

"I would take my friend with me," responded Frances. "And she should
have the pleasure of seeing the color coming back into my cheeks."

"And a most interesting sight it would be, darling. But oh, my poor,
poor nerves! The neuralgia in my back is positively excruciating at this
moment, dearest. I am positively on the rack; even a zephyr would slay
me."

"On the contrary," replied Frances in a firm voice, "you would be
strengthened and refreshed by the soft, sweet air outside. Come, Mrs.
Carnegie, I am your doctor and nurse, as well as your friend, and I
prescribe a drive in the open air for you this morning. After dinner,
too, your sofa, shall be placed in the arbor; in short, I intend you to
live out-of-doors while this fine weather lasts."

"Ah, dear imperious one! And yet you will kill me with this so-called
kindness."

"On the contrary, I will make you a strong woman if I can. Now I am
going to ring to order the carriage."

She bustled about, had her way, and to the amazement of every one Mrs.
Carnegie submitted to a drive for an hour in an open carriage.

All the time they were out Frances regaled her with the stories of the
poor and suffering people. She told her stories with great skill,
knowing just where to leave off, and just the points that would be most
likely to interest her companion. So interesting did she make herself
that never once during the drive was Mrs. Carnegie heard to mention the
word "nerves," and so practical and to the point were her words that the
rich woman's purse was opened, and two five-pound notes were given to
Frances to relieve those who stood most in need of them.

"Positively I am better," explained Mrs. Carnegie, as she ate her dainty
dinner with appetite.

An hour later she was seated cosily in the arbor which faced down the
celebrated Rose Walk, a place well known to all the visitors at Arden.

"You are a witch," she said to Frances; "for positively I do declare the
racking, torturing pain in my back is easier. The jolting of the
carriage ought to have made it ten times worse, but it didn't. I
positively can't understand it, my love."

"You forget," said Frances, "that althou