and come down."

She left the room. Miss Williams rose hurriedly, unhooked a brown silk
frock from the cupboard, and put it on. Her hair was always smooth; the
white line of disunion curved from brow to the braids pinned primly
above the nape of the neck. As she looked into the glass to-day she
experienced a sudden desire to fringe her hair, to put red on her
cheeks; longing to see if any semblance of her youthful prettiness could
be coaxed back. She lifted a pair of scissors, but threw them hastily
down. She had not the courage to face the smiles and questions that
would greet the daring innovation, the scathing ridicule of old man
Webster.

She stared at her reflection in the little mirror, trying to imagine her
forehead covered with a soft fringe. Nothing could conceal the lines
about the eyes and mouth, but the aging brow could be hidden from
critical gaze, the face redeemed from its unyouthful length. Her cheeks
were thin and colorless, but the skin was fine and smooth. The eyes,
which had once been a rich dark blue, were many shades lighter now, but
the dulness of age had not possessed them yet. Her set mouth had lost
its curves and red, but the teeth were good. The head was finely shaped
and well placed on the low old-fashioned shoulders. There were no
contours now under the stiff frock. Had her estate been high she would
have been, at the age of forty-two, a youthful and pretty woman. As it
was, she was merely an old maid with a patrician profile.

She went down-stairs to occupy her chair in the parlor, her seat at the
table, to be overlooked by the fine people who took no interest whatever
in the "Websters' companion." She hated them all. She had watched them
too grow old with a profound satisfaction for which she reproached