people, loads of money, you know them?" were honest enough, in
their way. She would have loaned Harriet any amount of money, the
girl reflected, smouldering, she would have shown her genuine
friendship and generosity in a crisis. But she would not introduce
people to Harriet this afternoon, and in a day or two she would
send Harriet a bit of lace, or a dainty waist, as a delicate
reminder that the courtesy had been a business one, after all.

The afternoon was the perfection of summer beauty, and after a few
moments' solitude Harriet began to feel its spell. She put her
cups and spoons in order, and chatted with a hovering maid. Some
elderly persons came out and sat near, and were grateful for the
quiet and the tea. From the reception line, on the lawn, came such
a brainless confusion of jabbering and chattering as might well
appall the old and nervous.

And presently the sun came out for Harriet in the arrival of a
tall, swiftly moving, dark-eyed woman some ten years older than
she was herself: Mary Putnam, one of the real friends the girl had
gained in the last four years. Young Mrs. Putnam, Harriet used to
think, with a little natural jealousy under her admiration, had
everything. She was not pretty, but hers was a distinguished
appearance and a lovely face; she had the self-possessed manner of
a woman whose whole life has been given to the social arts; she
had a clever, kindly, silent husband who adored her; her home, her
garden, her clubs and her charities, and finally she had her
nursery, where Billy and Betty were rioting through an ideal
childhood.

"Harriet--you dear child!" said the rich and pleased voice, as