Lillian colored and giggled. "Oh, land, don't talk about children,
ma!" said she. "I'm contented as it is. But you ought to have seen
that young one to-day."

"What did Ida wear?" asked Mrs. White.

"She wore her black velvet suit, that she had this winter, and the
way she strutted up the aisle was a caution."

"I don't see how Harry Edgham lives the way he does," said Mrs.
White. "Black velvet costs a lot. Do you s'pose it is silk velvet?"

"You bet."

"I don't see how he does it!"

"He looks sort of worn-out to me. He's grown awful old, I noticed it
to-day."

"Well, all Ida cares for is herself. _She_ don't see he's grown old,
you can be sure of that," said Mrs. White, with an odd sort of
bitterness. Actually the woman was so filled with maternal instincts
that the bare dream of Harry as her Lillian's husband had given her a
sort of motherly solicitude for him, which she had not lost. "It's a
shame," said she.

"Oh, well, it's none of my funeral," said Lillian, easily. She took a
chocolate out of a box which her lover had sent her, and began
nibbling it like a squirrel.