"Do you suppose she is here already?" asked Katy, tucking the railway
guide into the shawl-strap, and closing her bag with a snap.

"Yes: we shall meet her at the Massasoit. She and her father were to
pass the night there."

The Massasoit was close at hand, and in less then five minutes the
girls and papa were seated at a table in its pleasant dining-room.
They were ordering their breakfast, when Mr. Page came in, accompanied
by his daughter,--a pretty girl, with light hair, delicate, rather
sharp features, and her mother's stylish ease of manner. Her
travelling dress was simple, but had the finish which a French
dressmaker knows how to give to a simple thing; and all its
appointments--boots, hat, gloves, collar, neck ribbon--were so
perfect, each in its way, that Clover, glancing down at her own
gray alpaca, and then at Katy's, felt suddenly countrified and
shabby.

"Well, Lilly, here they are: here are your cousins," said Mr. Page,
giving the girls a cordial greeting. Lilly only said, "How do you
do?" Clover saw her glancing at the gray alpacas, and was conscious
of a sudden flush. But perhaps Lilly looked at something inside
the alpaca; for after a minute her manner changed, and became more
friendly.

"Did you order waffles?" she asked.

"Waffles? no, I think not," replied Katy.