when it comes to a mother-in-law. With parents, brothers,
sisters, uncles, aunts, and cousins all provided by a generous but
sometimes indiscriminating Fate, it seems hard that one's only choice
should be made unpleasant by salt water.

"Why," he went on, warming to his subject, "I remember how a certain
woman angled industriously for months to capture an unsuspecting young
man for her daughter. When she finally landed him, and the ceremony came
off to the usual accompaniment of Mendelssohn and a crowded church, I
feared that the bridal couple might have to come down the aisle from the
altar in a canoe, on account of the maternal tears."

[Sidenote: A Contrast]

"Perhaps," suggested Rosemary, timidly, "she was only crying because she
was happy."

"If she was as happy as all those tears would indicate, it's a blessed
wonder she didn't burst."

Madame smiled fondly at her son as she busied herself with the tea
things. Rosemary watched the white, plump hands that moved so gracefully
among the cups, and her heart contracted with a swift little pang of
envy, of which she was immediately ashamed. Unconsciously, she glanced
at her own rough, red hands. Madame saw the look, and understood.

"We'll soon fix them, my dear," she said, kindly. "I'll show you how to
take care of them."

"Really?" cried Rosemary, gratefully. "Oh, thank you! Do you suppose
that--that they'll ever look like yours?"

"Wait and see," Madame temporised. She was fond of saying that it took
three generations of breeding to produce the hand of a lady.

The kettle began to sing and the cover danced cheerily. Tiny clouds of
steam trailed off into space, disappearing in the late afternoon
sunshine like a wraith at dawn. Madame filled the blue china tea-pot
and the subtle fragrance permeated the room.

[Sidenote: A Cup of Tea]

"Think," she said, as she waited the allotted five minutes for it to
steep, "of all I give you in a cup of tea. See the spicy, sunlit fields,
where men, women, and children, in little jackets of faded blue, pick it
while their queues bob back and forth. Think of all the chatter that
goes in with the picking--marriage and birth and death and talk of
houses and worldly possessions, and everything else that we speak of
here.

"Then the long, sweet drying, and the packing in dim storehouses, and
then the long journey. Sand and heat and purple dusk, tinkle of bells
and scent of myrrh, the rustle of silks and the gleam of gold. T