ssumed
task.

Jeannette had written that she would arrive on a certain Thursday
afternoon between four and five, being conveyed by motor from the large
city, sixty miles away, which was her home. Georgiana, therefore, with
memories of college days again strong upon her, made ready to serve
afternoon tea beside the living-room fire.

"Be prepared to have this function every day while the guest is here,
Father Davy," said she. "Jeannette's undoubtedly accustomed to it and
would miss it more than she could miss any other one thing. But she's to
have only the plainest of thin bread and butter with it, since our
six-o'clock village supper comes so soon after. We mustn't pamper her,
must we?"

Mr. Warne, in his armchair by the fireside, ready to welcome the guest,
looked up at his daughter with bright eyes. "Pampering," said he, "is
the atmosphere of this house. Jeannette cannot escape it. I am pampered
beyond belief every day of my life. At this very moment my eyes are
feasting upon the sight of my child in what must be an absolutely new
old dress!"

A peculiar expression crossed Georgiana's face as she glanced down at
the soft gray-blue of the afternoon frock she had donned for the
occasion.

"I'm wondering if she will recognize it," she murmured. "It was one of
the white evening gowns in that last 'Semi-Annual.' I coloured it
myself--as usual. It really came out pretty well, but it gives me a
queer, conscious feeling to be wearing it when I meet her. Do you
suppose she'll know it, Father Davy?"

"And if she does?" The tone was that of a tender irony.

"I suppose I'm an idiot to care! I don't care--_but I do_!" Georgiana
flung a look at the slim man in the big chair, which said that she was
confident of his understanding her, no matter what she said.

"No false pride, daughter," he warned her. "You can tell the big man
from the little one by the character of the things he is willing to
accept. There was never any stigma attached to wearing the discarded
garments of another, provided they were come by honestly. And when one
has coloured them, into the bargain--and looks like the 'Portrait of a
Lady' in them----"

"Father Davy, you're the most comforting creature!" And Georgiana
dropped a kiss upon the top of the head which rested against the back of
the worn old armchair.

If she had not been watching from the window she would not have known
when the Crofton car drew up at the door, so quietly did the great,
s