eye caused her to turn at the very door. "Don't you dare!"
she hissed; then, banishing the warning scowl from her face,
and assuming a near-smile, she entered the room and I
followed miserably at her heels.

The Whalens rose and came forward effusively; Mrs.
Whalen, plump, dark, voluble; Sally, lean, swarthy,
vindictive; Flossie, pudgy, powdered, over-dressed. They
eyed me hungrily. I felt that they were searching my
features for signs of incipient insanity.

"Dear, DEAR girl!" bubbled the billowy Flossie,
kissing the end of my nose and fastening her eye on my
ringless left hand.

Sally contented herself with a limp and fishy
handshake. She and I were sworn enemies in our
school-girl days, and a baleful gleam still lurked in
Sally's eye. Mrs. Whalen bestowed on me a motherly hug
that enveloped me in an atmosphere of liquid face-wash,
strong perfumery and fried lard. Mrs. Whalen is a famous
cook. Said she:

"We've been thinking of calling ever since you were
brought home, but dear me! you've been looking so poorly
I just said to the girls, wait till the poor thing feels
more like seeing her old friends. Tell me, how are you
feeling now?"

The three sat forward in their chairs in attitudes of