“Well, you never can tell. A new broom sweeps clean. Are you going to train her as a servant or a lady? Is she bound out to you till she is eighteen? Somebody suggested that you had found her in an orphan asylum.” “Then somebody spoke falsely.” Miss Rindy’s firm lips straightened to a hard line. “She is my cousin, and, being such, should not fail to be a lady. Come in, Ellen,” she invited as Ellen appeared at the door. “This is my young cousin, Ellen North, and Ellen, this is Miss Sophia Garrett, an old schoolmate of mine.” Miss Garrett offered her hand and proceeded to look Ellen over with a critical eye. “Humph! she has red hair; that always means a high temper. It’s well she hasn’t the light eyebrows and eyelashes that generally go with red hair. She doesn’t look to be so very strong, but then maybe she’s one of the wiry kind. I like a bigger nose and a smaller mouth, myself.” Miss Garrett admired no features that did not resemble her own, no possessions which were unlike those she had. She was a short, chunky sort of person with thick arms and legs, big head, large nose, small mouth, and long chin. She had very large, prominent light blue eyes, and mouse-colored hair. She was distinctly the opposite of the type which Ellen had always been taught to admire, although she evidently was very much satisfied with herself. After her survey of Ellen the questions began again. “Father and mother dead, did you say?” She turned to Miss Rindy. “I didn’t say, but it is a fact,” returned Miss Rindy tartly. “What did they die of? I hope it wasn’t consumption; it would be too bad if she brought the germs into this house.” “It was not consumption. Cousin Gerald was gassed and suffered from shell-shock.” “In the war, was he? Oh, yes. And the mother?” “Died of pneumonia.” “Dear me! Was that before or after the husband?” “After.” “Well, I must say I think it’s pretty hard on you.” “I consider it is a privilege. Even if Ellen were not a relative I would be glad to be permitted to do my bit for the child of one of our own men. I saw enough when I was in France to appreciate all they went through. I certainly should be willing to share what I have with one of my own blood, setting aside the question of patriotism.” “How old is the girl?” asked Miss Garrett, changing the subject back to Ellen herself. “She is fifteen.” “Small for her age, isn’t she? But there’s time for her to grow. Going to send her to school, I suppose.” “Most certainly.” During these interrogations Ellen was most unhappy. She looked pleadingly at her cousin, who understood and made the suggestion that she should go into the kitchen to see if the soup were boiling over; and the girl, grateful for a chance to escape, obeyed with alacrity, hearing, however, as she went out, that Miss Garrett had started a new topic.