thereafter entirely and pointedly to Cynthia. "Did you ever see that
little girl, Cynthia?" said she.

"Yes," replied Cynthia, in a voice so strange that the other woman
stared wonderingly at her.

"Ain't you feeling well, Cynthia?" she asked.

"Very well, thank you," said Cynthia.

"When did you see her?" asked Mrs. Lloyd. Cynthia opened her mouth
as if to speak, then she glanced at Risley, whose eyes held her, and
laughed instead--a strange, nervous laugh. Happily, Mrs. Lloyd did
not wait for her answer. She had her own important information to
impart. She had in reality stopped for that purpose. "Well, I have
seen her," she said. "I met her in front of Crosby's one day last
summer. And she was so sweet-looking I stopped and spoke to her--I
couldn't help it. She had beautiful eyes, and the softest light
curls, and she was dressed so pretty, and the flowers on her hat
were nice. The embroidery on her dress was very fine, too. Usually,
you know, those people don't care about the fineness, as long as it
is wide, and showy, and bright-colored. I asked her what her name
was, and she answered just as pretty, and her mother told me how old
she was. Her mother was a handsome woman, though she had an
up-and-coming kind of way with her. But she seemed real pleased to
have me notice the child. Where do you suppose she was all that
time, Cynthia?"

"She was in some safe place, undoubtedly," said Risley, and again
Mrs. Lloyd felt that she was snubbed, though not seeing how nor why,