a million different ways. You don’t understand how much I owe her. It is such a little thing to invite her to my—to our party. I’d love to do it, Lila.”

Still no answer. The silence lengthened out minute after minute. Finally Bea ventured to raise her head and hold up another card for inspection. “See, a new daisy, but this one has a different disposition. Do you observe the expression—sort of grinning and cheerful? This is like Sue, while the first one is like you, an earnest young person, not one bit impudent. See it, lady. The dearest flower-face. I love it.”

“And yet”—Lila’s voice sounded choked, “you want to invite her to the party. You know it will spoil my pleasure. You—know—I—hate—her.”

Bea’s frame trembled once in a nervous shiver. Her fascinated eyes followed Lila to the window, where she stood staring out at the dazzling winter world of snow.

“You must choose between Susan Merriam and me. I have a right to demand it. I have a right. I have a right.”

Bea saw Lila lift her arm as if to brush away the tears. Then one hand fumbled for her handkerchief, while the other squeezed the burned corks with unconscious force. She was certainly wiping her eyes.

“You must—you must—choose to-day—between Susan Merriam and me. If you choose her, I shall never speak to you again. If you choose me, you must have nothing to do with her. Nothing! You must drop her acquaintance. You cannot have both.”

Bea suddenly tipped back in her chair, teetered to and fro for a frantic moment, then brought it down with a bump on all four feet.

“Nonsense!” she snapped.

Lila stood motionless so long that Bea had time to notice the ticking of her watch. Then she turned slowly around from the window.

“And this is friendsh——”

LILA STOOD STARING OUT AT THE SNOW

“Oh!” squealed Bea, “oh, oh, oh! Ha, ha, ha!” Flinging her arms out over the desk she buried her face upon them and shook with uncontrollable laughter.

Lila crimsoned to her hair, then went white with anger. Without a word she walked into her own room and locked the door.

Half an hour later when she rose from the bed and began to pour out a basinful of water to bathe her smarting eyes, she heard a rustle on the threshold. Glancing quickly around she saw a square of white paper being thrust beneath the door. It was a letter from home on the five o’clock mail. Lila picked it up and opened it listlessly. The fit of weeping had left her exhausted.

“My darling daughter,” she read,

“This is a hasty note to say that your great aunt Sarah is on her way east, and will stop at the college for a day’s visit with you. I wish to caution you, dear girl, against even the semblance of a slight in your treatment of her. Do not forget to inquire after Gyp the terrier, Rex the angora cat, Dandy the parrot, and Ellen the maid. Your aunt is exceedingly sensitive about such small attentions. You might invite your friends to meet her at afternoon tea, and if you can manage it tactfully you might warn them not to discuss topics with which she is unacquainted. She has, as you know, a very peculiar disposition. The least suspicion of neglect or hint of criticism exasperates her beyond endurance. In her childhood she suffered continually because of this oversensitive nature. I suspect that she made no effort to conquer the fault. Indeed so far as I may judge from her present attitude, she has always considered it a proof of superior delicacy and refinement. She has cherished her selfishness instead of fighting it. As a consequence her life has been embittered and unspeakably lonely. I believe that she has not a friend on earth except her pets, and even Gyp has learned not to frisk with joy at sight of anybody but his mistress.

“I am sure I may trust you, dear, to make her visit as happy as possible, although in truth it seems irony to speak of real happiness in connection with such a temperament. You may not be aware that even your Aunt Sarah was once the heroine of a romance. He was an extraordinarily fine man, and she would have found happiness with him, if with anybody. But one day in the rush of an important law-suit, he forgot to keep an engagement with her, and she never forgave the slight. After that disappointment—and it was a grievous disappointment, however self-inflicted—especially grievous to such an expert in self-torture—her nature grew rapidly and steadily more self-absorbed and unlovely.

“My darling little daughter, sometimes I have feared that you may have inherited a similar tendency. It has been difficult, dearest, to guide aright where even the slightest word of criticism stings and burns and lashes. You, more than many girls, need the discipline of wisest, frankest friendship with others of your own age. I see that during your high school days I did wrong in trying to supply their place to you with my own companionship. A child, however precious, cannot be forever kept wrapped in cotton-wool.

“So, dearest daughter, you will understand how joyful I am this year in hearing of your new friends. Don’t let them slip away through any fault of yours. Whatever is worth winning is worth keeping, even at the cost of many a sacrifice of foolish pride.

“When you see your aunt, be sure to remember me to her.

Lila read the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and walking across the little room threw herself again face downward on the bed. After a while the dressing-gong whirred its tidings through the corridors. Lila slid to her feet and began to walk mechanically toward the mirror.

“But Bea laughed. She laughed at me. Mother doesn’t know that Bea laughed. And I thought she was my friend.” Lila felt another sob come tearing up toward her throat and clenched her teeth in the struggle to choke it back. Blinded by a rush of fresh tears, she opened the top drawer of the bureau and felt for her brush with groping fingers.

“She laughed right in my face. I—I—could have forgiven everything else. But—but mother doesn’t know that Bea in-insulted me. She—laughed—right—in—my——”

Then through the blur Lila happened to catch sight of her reflection in the looking-glass. The last sob broke off sheer in the middle, and left her with her lips still parted in an unfinished quiver.

The horrified face that stared back at her from the mirror was striped and rayed with startling streaks of black. The astonished eyes shone out from white circles framed in ebony sunbursts; the nose was like an islet washed by jetty waves; the mouth slowly widened under a fiercely upcurved line of inky hue.

In the study on the other side of the door, remorseful Bea was wearing several paths in their best rug, as she waited for some sign. Suddenly a new sound welled up and she bent her head to listen, in quick dread of another storm of weeping. But, no! This was different. It was not a sob, though it did seem rather gaspy. It bubbled and chuckled. It was laughter.

“Lila!” cried Bea, and made a dash toward the room. Lila flung open the door.

“Bea!” she answered, “I am going to give a tea for my Aunt Sarah.