"My Amelia is at your house, as I understand?"
said Mrs. Diantha, in an awful voice.

"Ye-es, ma-am."

"Let me go," said Mrs. Diantha, violently, to
Grandmother Stark, who tried to restrain her. Mrs.
Diantha dressed herself and marched down the
street, dragging Lily after her. The little girl had
to trot to keep up with the tall woman's strides, and
all the way she wept.

It was to Lily's mother's everlasting discredit, in
Mrs. Diantha's opinion, but to Lily's wonderful re-
lief, that when she heard the story, standing in the
hall in her lovely dinner dress, with the strains of
music floating from the drawing-room, and cigar
smoke floating from the dining-room, she laughed.
When Lily said, "And there wasn't even any chicken-
roast, mother," she nearly had hysterics.

"If you think this is a laughing matter, Mrs. Jen-
nings, I do not," said Mrs. Diantha, and again her
dislike and sorrow at the sight of that sweet, mirth-
ful face was over her. It was a face to be loved, and
hers was not.

"Why, I went up-stairs and kissed the child good
night, and never suspected," laughed Lily's mother.