answered her apology. "But"--she looked at the beautifully gowned
figure, the lovely, imaginative face, thereby, like a good showman,
calling Mr. Brockton's attention to them--"we'll forgive you."

"Oh, it wasn't primping that kept me. I stopped for a few minutes at
the schoolroom door. Poor Lena! She seemed to be feeling the
responsibilities of erudition terribly this morning. She showed me her
botany slides with such an air! Do you know what genus has the
_rostellum_, Anna?"

"No, I don't," said Anna, shortly. "And Lena's growing up a perfect
young prig. I'll have to change governesses. Heaven knows what I'll
draw next time! The last one had charm, but no learning, and mighty
little intelligence. This one has no manner at all, and is of
encyclopaedic information. A daughter's a terrible responsibility."

"Isn't she?" Millicent's tone was one of affectionate raillery as she
gathered her draperies about her in the automobile. The notion of
Anna's responsibilities amused her; Anna was so untouched by them--as
smooth-skinned, as slim and vivacious, as the forty-year-old mother of
two boys entering college, a girl in the schoolroom and another in the
nursery, as she had been as a _debutante_.

"Oh, you may make fun," said Anna, snapping open the frothy thing she
called a sunshade, "but you don't know how I lie awake nights,
shuddering lest Lena grow up a near-sighted girl with no color and
serious views."

Millicent only smiled as the great machine moved off. The sunshine,
the rare and ordered beauty of the place, the fragrance of the soft