"You stayed," was mamma's arch conjecture, "to write a ream to Hugo,
dear fellow, I suppose?..."

"No, I went!" said Cally, now in the last stages of an evening toilette.
"Only when I got there, and peeped in, it all looked so dreary and
hopeless that my heart failed me, and I turned right around and came
back! Was it--"

"You did! How long were you there? There's a little too much powder on
your nose, my dear--there! Did you come upstairs?"

"Oh, no! I just slipped in for a moment or two and glanced about that
queer old court downstairs. Quaint and interesting, isn't it? How was
the meeting?"

"Most interesting and gratifying," said mamma, sinking into a rose-lined
chair. "We begin a noble work. You may go now, Flora. I am made a
governor, as well as chairman of the most important committee...."

She monologized for some time, in a rich vein of reminiscence and
autobiography, revealing among other things that she had rather broadly
hinted, to Mrs. Byrd and others, who was the anonymous donor of the
Settlement House; a certain wealthy New Yorker, to wit. However, it was
clear that she saw nothing amiss, nor did she say anything more germane
to her daughter's inner drama than, in the moment of parting:

"Rub your cheeks a little with the soft cloth. You look quite pale."

Carlisle rubbed faithfully, aware of a lump of lead where her heart
should have been. Later she went downstairs, and then on for dinner at