leven! And Angeel's nine. Nearly ten."

"Angeel? Who's she? You don't mean to tell me that you----"

"What do you mean?" said Miss Clairville fiercely. "What right have
you to imagine such things? I'll tell you some day about Angeel, but
just now I prefer to discuss something pleasant. We will resume our
packing, my dear. Here is this blanket coat. What am I to do with it?"

"Give it away, of course. You'll never wear it again, Pauline, where
you're going!"

"I know I shan't," replied Miss Clairville, compressing her lips as she
regarded with a critical eye the antiquated wine-red garment adorned
with a white sash, and tuque to correspond. "But I look so well in
this, too!"

"If you don't want it, let me have it for Maisie. Why--it would be
just the thing for her, running around here all winter! Say,
Pauline--ain't it funny to think she's the child of an English swell?
Stanbury's from a real good family, I can tell you. I guess your Mr.
Hawtree would be likely to know all about him. You might ask him.
Then there's this white evening dress. My--it's dirty enough, goodness
knows! It ought to be French cleaned, but who's to do it in this
out-of-the-way place? Here are a lot of roses falling out of it--do
they belong to it?"

"That's my Camille dress. The roses go around the skirt--see?--in
garlands: same around the waist and on the hair. I might turn it into
a _peignoir_, I suppose. But I think I will give it to you, Sara; you
can keep it till Maisie grows up and do it--how do you say?--do it over
for her. Is she fair or dark?"

"Dark--just like Stanbury. Say, won't you tell me about Angeel now?"

"No, no! _O--pour l'amour de Dieu_, don't drag her in at this time!
Haven't I enough to worry me? What shall I do if Edmund breaks out
again? I haven't seen him all day."

Miss Cordova was very thoughtful for an instant.

"Seems to me you ought to've had more under-clothes," she said
solemnly, and Pauline laughed. "And what you have got are far too
plain. My--the ones I saw just before I came away from New York! Say,
Pauline--there was twenty-five yards of lace, honest, to one nightgown!"

"Was there? At Sorel we were not allowed one yard; frilly things, and
too much lace and ribbons are the mark of bad women. Did you ever hear
that?"

"I guess my mother held some notions like those. She used to
say--quality was the thing, and was never satisfied till she got the
best lawn, soft as s