princess of any idea that the possession of a mere man,
be he prince or peasant, was anything to brag of.

"I've brought my work, Mrs. Blythe, dearie," she
remarked, unrolling some dainty material. "I'm in a
hurry to get this done, and there isn't any time to
lose."

Anne looked in some surprise at the white garment
spread over Miss Cornelia's ample lap. It was
certainly a baby's dress, and it was most beautifully
made, with tiny frills and tucks. Miss Cornelia
adjusted her glasses and fell to embroidering with
exquisite stitches.

"This is for Mrs. Fred Proctor up at the Glen," she
announced. "She's expecting her eighth baby any day
now, and not a stitch has she ready for it. The other
seven have wore out all she made for the first, and
she's never had time or strength or spirit to make any
more. That woman is a martyr, Mrs. Blythe, believe ME.
When she married Fred Proctor _I_ knew how it would
turn out. He was one of your wicked, fascinating men.
After he got married he left off being fascinating and
just kept on being wicked. He drinks and he neglects
his family. Isn't that like a man? I don't know how
Mrs. Proctor would ever keep her children decently
clothed if her neighbors didn't help her out."

As Anne was afterwards to learn, Miss Cornelia was the