said things about him, and if they did, what they were. I never
had heard. Twisting in my seat, one by one I studied the faces
on the men's side, and then the women. It was a mighty good-
looking crowd. Some had finer clothes than others--that is
always the way--but as a rule every one was clean, neat, and good
to see. From some you scarcely could turn away. There was Widow
Fall. She was French, from Virginia, and she talked like little
tinkly notes of music. I just loved to hear her, and she walked
like high-up royalty. Her dress was always black, with white
bands at the neck and sleeves, black rustly silk, and her eyes
and hair were like the dress. There was a little red on her
cheeks and lips, and her face was always grave until she saw you
directly before her, and then she smiled the sweetest smile.

Maybe Sarah Hood was not pretty, but there was something about
her lean face and shining eyes that made you look twice before
you were sure of it, and by that time you had got so used to her,
you liked her better as she was, and wouldn't have changed her
for anything. Mrs. Fritz had a pretty face and dresses and
manners, and so did Hannah Dover, only she talked too much. So I
studied them and remembered what the Princess had said, and I
wondered if she heard some one say that Peter Justice beat his
wife, or if she showed it in her face and manner. She reminded
me of a scared cowslip that had been cut and laid in the sun an
hour. I don't know as that expresses it. Perhaps a flower
couldn't look scared, but it could be wilted and faded. I
wondered if she ever had bright hair, laughing eyes, and red in
her lips and cheeks. She must have been pretty if she had.

At last I reached my mother. There was nothing scared or faded