Then, just as she was, hands in muff, she entered the parlour.

She was tingling with keen, rosy life, and with the sense of youthful power.

She had the deep, unconscious conviction of the superiority of youth to age.

And there were the two older women, waiting for her, as it were on the defensive, and as nervous as she! "Good afternoon, Miss Gailey," she said, with a kind and even very cordial smile, and heartily shook the flaccid, rheumatic hand that was primly held out to her.

And yet in spite of herself, perhaps unknown to herself, there was in her tone and her smile and her vigorous clasp something which meant, "Poor old thing!" pityingly, indulgently, scornfully.
She had not spoken to Miss Gailey, and she had scarcely seen her, since the days of the dancing-class.