the worthless idler fattening in purposelessness. She was
engaged with all her energies in preparing for the ball Hugo
Galland's sister, Mrs. Bertrand, was giving at the assembly rooms
that night.

``I've been hard at it for several days now,'' said she. ``I
think at last I see daylight. But I want your opinion.''

Jane gazed absently at the dress and accompanying articles that
had been assembled with so much labor. ``All right,'' said she.
``You'll look fine and dandy.''

Martha twitched. ``Jane, dear--don't say that-- don't use such
an expression. I know it's your way of joking. But lots of
people would think you didn't know any better.''

``Let 'em think,'' said Jane. ``I say and do as I please.''

Martha sighed. Here was one member of her family who could be a
credit, who could make people forget the unquestionably common
origin of the Hastingses and of the Morleys. Yet this member was
always breaking out into something mortifying, something
reminiscent of the farm and of the livery stable--for the
deceased Mrs. Hastings had been daughter of a livery stable
keeper--in fact, had caught Martin Hastings by the way she rode
her father's horses at a sale at a county fair. Said Martha:

``You haven't really looked at my clothes, Jane. Why DID you go
back to calling yourself Jane?''