the girl was not to be annoyed.

“I don’t know who she is or where she hails from,” he told his wife, “but as long as she stays here, she’s not to be pestered by a lot of gossiping old hens. When she does anything you don’t like, send her away; but so long’s she’s under my roof, she’s got to be let alone.”

And let alone she was—not so much because of Adams’ dictum as because “pestering” did little good.

The girl had a disconcerting way of looking an inquisitor straight in the eyes, and then, with a monosyllabic reply, turning and walking off as if the other did not exist.

“Why,” said Miss Bascom, aggrievedly relating her experience, “I just said, politely, ‘Are you from New York or where, Miss Austin?’ and she turned those big, black eyes on me, and said, ‘Where.’ Then she turned her back and looked out of the window, as if she had wiped me off the face of the earth!”

“She’s too young to act like that,” opined Mrs. Welby.

“Oh, she isn’t so terribly young,” Miss Bascom returned. “She’s too experienced to be so very young.”

“How do you know she’s experienced? What makes you say that?”

“Why,” Miss Bascom hesitated for words, “she’s—sort of sophisticated—you can see that from her looks. I mean when anything is discussed at the table, she doesn’t say a word, but you can tell from her face that she knows all about it—I mean a matter of general interest, don’t you know. I don’t mean local matters.”

“She’s an intelligent girl, I know, but that doesn’t make her out old. I don’t believe she’s twenty.”

“Oh, she is! Why, she’s twenty-five or twenty-seven!”

“Never in the world! I’m going to ask her.”

“Ask her!” Miss Bascom laughed. “You’ll get well snubbed if you do.”

But this prophecy only served to egg Mrs. Welby on, and she took the first occasion to carry out her promise.

She met Anita in the hall, as the girl was about to go out, and smilingly detained her.

“Why so aloof, my dear,” she said, playfully. “You rarely give us a chance to entertain you.”

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