As Patty afterward confided to Mona, she felt, when introduced to
Mrs. Parsons, as if she were making the acquaintance of a ghost.

The little lady was so thin, so pale, and so generally ethereal
looking, that it seemed as if a strong puff of wind would blow her
away.

Her face was very white, her large eyes a pale blue, and her hair
that ashen tint which comes when light hair turns grey. The hand
she languidly held out to Patty was transparent, and so thin and
limp that it felt like a glove full of small bones. Her voice was
quite in keeping with her general air of fragility. It was high,
thin and piping, and she spoke as if every word were a tax on her
strength.

"How do you do, my dear?" she said, with a wan little smile at
Patty. "How pretty you are! I used to be pretty, too; at least, so
they told me." She gave a trilling little laugh, and Patty said,
heartily, "I'm sure they were right; I approve their opinion."

This pleased Mrs. Parsons mightily, and she leaned back among her
chair cushions with a satisfied air.

Patty felt a distinct liking for the little lady, but she wondered
how she expected to perform a chaperon's duties for two vigorous,
healthy young girls, much inclined to gaieties.

"I am not ill," Mrs. Parsons said, almost, it seemed, in answer to
Patty's unspoken thought. "I am not very strong, and I can't stand
hot weather. But I am really well,--though of a delicate