little cell. She assisted to receive the guests in a new black silk
gown. Miss Webster was clad from head to foot in English crêpe, with
deep collar and girdle of dull jet.

That was a memorable day in the history of the city.

Thereafter Miss Webster gave an elaborate dinner-party every Sunday
evening at seven o'clock. No patient groans greeted her invitations.
Never did a lone woman receive such unflagging attentions.

At each dinner she wore a different gown. It was at the third that she
dazzled her guests with an immense pair of diamond earrings. At the
fourth they whispered that she had been having her nails manicured. At
the fifth it was painfully evident that she was laced. At the sixth they
stared and held their breath: Miss Webster was unmistakably painted. But
it was at the tenth dinner that they were speechless and stupid: Miss
Webster wore a blond wig.

"They can just talk all they like," said the lady to her companion that
last night, as she sat before her mirror regarding her aged charms. "I
have four millions, and I shall do as I please. It's the first time I
ever could, and I intend to enjoy every privilege that wealth and
independence can give. Whose business is it, anyway?" she demanded,
querulously.

"No one's. But it is a trifle ridiculous, and you must expect people to
talk."

"They'd better talk!" There was a sudden suggestion of her brother's
personality, never before apparent. "But why is it ridiculous, I should