“I have to acknowledge, Ellen, that I never dreamed that dress could make such a difference, and that I suppose I am a vain old goose to be so pleased, but what troubles me is what people will think. I know what Sophy Bennett will say: ‘There’s no fool like an old fool.’” “What do you care what she says or thinks? I’m sorry I invited her if you think she’ll make you feel uncomfortable.” “She won’t, not any more than any one else. Let’s go down, Ellen, before I get so puffed up looking at myself in the glass that there’ll be no enduring me.” “There’s the bell,” cried Ellen. “Don’t leave me up here alone,” Miss Rindy called after her, “for there is no knowing into what self-abasement I may plunge. If I don’t rend my heart I may rend my garments, so wait for me, and, once having put my hand to the plough, I shall not dare to turn back.” Ellen waited for her half-way down the stairs, and together they greeted the first arrivals, these happening to be Caro and her parents. “It’s good you happen to be the first, Sam Rowe,” was Miss Rindy’s greeting to the doctor. “This is my first party, you know, and I’m liable to faint dead away from excitement, I’m in such a flutter.” “You don’t look much as if you’d faint,” returned the doctor. “I never saw you look so well.” “Why, Rindy Crump,” Mrs. Rowe had been looking her over, “what have you been doing to yourself? You look ten years younger.” “Doesn’t she?” the doctor agreed. “You’re almost good-looking, Rindy.” “Sh! Sh!” warned Miss Rindy. “Here come some more people. I must compose my countenance. If you don’t stop your compliments, I shall have a rush of blood to the head, and then what? Go along, Sam Rowe, and try out your flattery on some one else, Sophy Bennett, for instance.” The doctor made a wry face but moved on, and soon Miss Rindy was surrounded by her guests. CHAPTER VII GETTING OUT OF DIFFICULTIES Never had Rindy Crump’s old house witnessed such gayety as it did that evening. Every one seemed bound to give the hostess a good time. Jeremy Todd brought his ’cello, Dr. Rowe contributed his stock of funny stories, and Barry Hale did some imitations which convulsed every one. The surprise of the evening was when Ellen picked up Jeremy’s violin. He had left it with her earlier in the day, and he now accompanied her on the ’cello as she played a lively gavotte. She looked very charming as she stood in her simple white frock, with the violin tucked under her chin, and she had at least one adorer in Caro, who watched her ecstatically. After the applause had died away Caro rushed forward. “Oh, Ellen,” she cried, “you never told me you could play the violin. How accomplished you are.”