year or two, she had her husband's two nieces, the Misses Tremont,
young women well known in Boston's inner circles, her own daughter, a
Mrs. Endicott, a widow, and a very beautiful young girl whom she
introduced as "My cousin, Miss Moore."

Miss Moore was the recipient of more attention than she could well
handle. Mrs. Tremont's cavaliers tried to inveigle her into betting
gloves and bon-bons; they reserved their wittiest replica for her, they
were her ardent allies in all the merry badinage with which their party
whiled away the time waiting for the game to begin. Miss Moore was
getting enough attention to turn the heads of three girls.

At least, that was what her chaperone concluded as she skilfully
concealed her dissatisfaction with a radiant smile. She liked girls to
achieve social success when they were under her wing--it was the next
best thing to scoring success on her own account. But, it was quite a
different matter to invite a poor relation half out of charity, half
out of pity, and then have her outshine one's own daughter, and one's
nieces--the latter being her particular protégés--girls whom she hoped
to assist toward brilliant establishments. The thought was a
disquieting one, the men of their party had been making idiots of
themselves over the girl ever since they left Boston; it was all very
well to be kind to one's poor kin--but charity began at home when there
were girls who had been out three seasons! What was it, that made the
men lose their heads like so many sheep? She adjusted her lorgnette
and again took an inventory of the girl's appearance. It was eminently
satisfactory even when viewed from the critical standard of Mrs.
Standish Tremont. A delicately oval face, with low smooth brow, from
which the night-black hair rippled in softly crested waves and clung
about the temples in tiny circling ringlets, delicate as the faintest