MISS REED: "You're NOT old. You're as young as anybody, Nettie
Spaulding. And you know I'm not young; I'm twenty-seven, if I'm a
day. I'm just dropping into the grave. But I can't argue with you,
miles off so, any longer." Miss Reed appears at the open door,
dragging languidly after her the shawl which she had evidently drawn
round her on the sofa; her fair hair is a little disordered, and she
presses it into shape with one hand as she comes forward; a lovely
flush vies with a heavenly pallor in her cheeks; she looks a little
pensive in the arching eyebrows, and a little humorous about the
dimpled mouth. "Now I can prove that you are entirely wrong. Where-
-were you?--This room is rather an improvement over the one we had
last winter. There is more of a view"--she goes to the window--"of
the houses across the Place; and I always think the swell front gives
a pretty shape to a room. I'm sorry they've stopped building them.
Your piano goes very nicely into that little alcove. Yes, we're
quite palatial. And, on the whole, I'm glad there's no fireplace.
It's a pleasure at times; but for the most part it's a vanity and a
vexation, getting dust and ashes over everything. Yes; after all,
give me the good old-fashioned, clean, convenient register! Ugh! My
feet are like ice." She pulls an easy-chair up to the register in
the corner of the room, and pushes open its valves with the toe of
her slipper. As she settles herself luxuriously in the chair, and
poises her feet daintily over the register: "Ah, this is something
like! Henrietta Spaulding, ma'am! Did I ever tell you that you were
the best friend I have in the world?"

MISS SPAULDING, who continues her work of arranging the room:
"Often."

MISS REED: "Did you ever believe it?"