ushered her guests to the spare room and
thence into the parlor, where she left them while she hastened out to
help Priscilla unharness her horse.

"It's dreadful to come upon you so unexpectedly as this," apologized
Priscilla, "but I did not know till last night that we were coming. Aunt
Charlotte is going away Monday and she had promised to spend today with
a friend in town. But last night her friend telephoned to her not to
come because they were quarantined for scarlet fever. So I suggested we
come here instead, for I knew you were longing to see her. We called
at the White Sands Hotel and brought Mrs. Pendexter with us. She is a
friend of aunt's and lives in New York and her husband is a millionaire.
We can't stay very long, for Mrs. Pendexter has to be back at the hotel
by five o'clock."

Several times while they were putting away the horse Anne caught
Priscilla looking at her in a furtive, puzzled way.

"She needn't stare at me so," Anne thought a little resentfully. "If she
doesn't KNOW what it is to change a feather bed she might IMAGINE it."

When Priscilla had gone to the parlor, and before Anne could escape
upstairs, Diana walked into the kitchen. Anne caught her astonished
friend by the arm.

"Diana Barry, who do you suppose is in that parlor at this very moment?
Mrs. Charlotte E. Morgan . . . and a New York millionaire's wife . . . and
here I am like THIS . . . and NOT A THING IN THE HOUSE FOR DINNER BUT A
COLD HAM BONE, Diana!"

By this time Anne had become aware that Diana was staring at her in
precisely the same bewildered fashion as Priscilla had done. It was
really too much.

"Oh, Diana, don't look at me so," she implored. "YOU, at least, must
know that the neatest person in the world couldn't empty feathers from
one tick into another and remain neat in the process."

"It . . . it . . . isn't the feathers," hesitated Diana. "It's . . .
it's . . . your nose, Anne."

"My nose? Oh, Diana, surely nothing has gone wrong with it!"

Anne rushed to the little looking glass over the sink. One glance
revealed the fatal truth. Her nose was a brilliant scarlet!

Anne sat down on the sofa, her dauntless spirit subdued at last.

"What is the matter with it?" asked Diana, curiosity overcoming
delicacy.

"I thought I was rubbing my freckle lotion on it, but I must have used
that red dye Marilla has for marking the pattern on her rugs," was the
despairing response. "What shall I do?"

"Wash it off,"