walked well, especially when one considers the sort of shoes she wore:
she had the good free stride of one who walks for the joy of it and not
because that is the only conceivable way to get somewhere. Nevertheless,
just as she reached the Byrd doorstep, she was overhauled by the
Cooneys, her poor but long-stepping relatives. There were only two of
them this time, Henrietta and Charles, better known, from one end of the
town to the other, as Hen and Chas.

The Cooneys, who were young people of about her own age, greeted
Carlisle with their customary simple gaiety. Both exclaimed over her
striking attire, Charles adding to his sister:

"Let Uncle Dudley stand next to Cally there, Hen--I'm better-looking
than you, anyway."

"I'd like to see a vote on that first. Recognize _mine_, Cally?" cried
Hen--"the brown you gave me last fall? First appearance since I steamed
and turned it. It'll stand a dye next year, too. But we haven't seen you
for a long time, my dear. Did you know Aunt Rose Hopwood's staying
with us now?"

"Oh, is she? I hadn't heard, Hen. How is she?"

"She's bad off," said Chas, cheerfully. "Deaf, lame, and cruel poverty's
hit her right at her old home address. I guess she'll come live with us
later on. Come walk out to King's Bridge for an appetite."

Carlisle, with an impatient foot on the Byrds' bottom step, glanced from
Chas to Hen, smiling a little. Her cousins were well-meaning young
people, and she liked them in a way, but she often found their breezy