She stepped into the cab, and was followed by Beatrice, Jane, the little maid, handing in after them a small band-box, which contained the cap trimmed with Honiton lace.

 

Mrs. Meadowsweet's cheeks were slightly flushed, and her good-humored eyes were shining with contentment and satisfaction.

 

"Oh, there's Mrs. Morris!" she said to Beatrice. "I'd better tell her where we are going. She's always so interested in the Manor folks. Davis, stop the cab a minute! Call to him, Bee. Da-vis!"

 

The cap stopped, and Mrs. Morris, eager and bustling, drew nigh.

 

"How are you, dear?" she said. "How do you do, Beatrice? Isn't it bad for you, dear love," turning again to the elder lady, "to have the window of the fly open? Although it is summer, and the doctor makes a fuss about the thermometer being over eighty in the shade, I know for a positive fact that the wind is east, and very treacherous."

 

"I don't take cold easily, Jessie," replied Mrs. Meadowsweet. "No, I prefer not to have the windows up, poor Bee would be over hot. We must think of the young things, mustn't we, Jessie? Well, you'll wonder why I am in my best toggery! Bee and I are off to the Manor, no less, I assure you. And to dinner, too! There's news for you."

 

"Well, I'm sure!" responded Mrs. Morris. Envy was in every tone of her voice, and on every line of her face. As usual, when excited, she found her voice, which came out quite thin and sharp. "Well, I'm sure," she repeated. "I wish you all luck, Lucy. Not that it's such a condescension, oh, by no means. The doctor said the bedrooms were very shabby in their furniture, and such a meal as those poor girls were eating for breakfast. He said his heart quite ached for them. Nothing but stale bread, and the name of butter, and tea like water bewitched. He said he'd rather never have a child than see her put down to such fare."

 

"Dear, dear, you don't say so," answered Mrs. Meadowsweet. "Bee, my love, we must have those nice girls constantly to the Gray House, and feed them up all we can. I'm very sorry to hear your news, Jessie. But I'm afraid we can't wait to talk any longer now. Nothing could have been more affable than Mrs. Bertram's letter, sent down by special messenger, and written in a most stylish hand."

 

"You haven't got it in your pocket, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Morris.

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