r fingers. "See her wrists! Now my
wrists are small too, but then there is nothing but wrist all the way
up."

"My dear, your arms have been much admired," said Miss Margaretta, with
a shade of bewilderment in her voice.

"Yes, because I choose they shall be. But when I spoke of Anne's hands,
I spoke artistically, aunt."

"Do you expect Mr. Blum to-day?" said Miss Teller.

"Oh no," said Helen, smiling. "Mr. Blum, Anne, is a poor artist whom
Aunt Gretta is cruel enough to dislike."

"Not on account of his poverty," said Miss Margaretta, "but on account
of my having half-brothers, with large families, all with weak lungs,
taking cold, I may say, at a breath--a mere breath; and Mr. Blum insists
upon coming here without overshoes when there has been a thaw, and
sitting all the evening in wet boots, which naturally makes me think of
my brothers' weak families, to say nothing of the danger to himself."

"Well, Mr. Blum is not coming. But Mr. Heathcote is."

"Ah."

"And Mr. Dexter may."

"I am always glad to see Mr. Dexter," said Aunt Margaretta.

Mr. Heathcote did not come; Mr. Dexter did. But Anne was driving with
Miss Teller, and missed the visit.

"A remarkable man," said the elder lady, as they sat at the dinner table
in the soft radiance of wax lights.

"You mean Mr. Blum?" said Helen. "This straw-colored jelly exactly
matches me, Anne."

"I mean Mr. Dexter," said Miss Teller, nodding her head impressively.
"Sent through college by the bounty of a relative (who died immediately
afterward, in the most reprehensible way, leaving him absolutely
nothing), Gregory Dexter, at thirty-eight, is to-day a man of modern and
distinct importance. Handsome--you do not contradict me there, Helen?"

"No, aunt."

"Handsome," repeated Miss Teller, triumphantly, "successful, moral,
kind-hearted, and rich--what would you have more? I ask you, Miss
Douglas, what would you have more?"

"Nothing," said Helen. "Anne has confided to me--nothing. Long live
Gregory Dexter! And I feel sure, too, that he will outlive us all. I
shall go first. You will see. I always wanted to be first in
everything--even the grave."

"My dear!" said Miss Margaretta.

"Well, aunt, now would you like to be last? Think how lonely you would
be. Besides, all the best places would be taken," said Helen, in
business-like tones, taking a spray of heliotrope from the vase before
her.

New-Year's Day was, in the eyes of Margaretta Teller, a solemn fes