HOW BEE TRIED TO MAKE US SMART Bee had spent nearly all the time since we were married in Europe, and had never, therefore, paid the Angel and me a visit. But this very afternoon she was to arrive. The arrival of one's sister need not necessarily mean anything as alarming as a smallpox scare, but if you knew the somewhat revolutionary methods, adopted with a ladylike quiet and a well-bred calm, which characterize Bee's visits to her relatives, you would excuse our somewhat flurried preparations to entertain her. In addition to our natural desire to do our best for her, Bee had sent a letter clearly setting forth the style of entertainment she expected of us, and indicating that no paltry excuses would be taken for our not coming up to her wishes. Aubrey was at first for open rebellion. "If she will take us as she finds us, Bee will be welcome to come and stay as long as she likes," he said, while her letter was still fresh in our minds. "She won't," I said, with conviction. Bee is my sister, or to speak more accurately, I am Bee's sister. "She will come prepared to make radical changes in our mode of living, in everything from our religion to the way we have hung the pictures." Aubrey used one small unprintable word. "Furthermore," I added, "she will be so smooth and plausible about it, that you will not object to carrying out her wishes." The Angel gave me a look. "If we carry out her wishes, do you think that will be the reason?" he asked, quietly. "No," I cried, impulsively. "It will be because as a host or as anything else you are an Angel." But he is also a diplomat, as his next remark will show. "As we are incapable with such generic instructions," he said, tapping Bee's letter with his pipe, "of knowing just how we must make ourselves over to suit her, and as Bee is never quite happy unless she is managing other people's affairs, suppose we wait until she comes and gives us specific orders?" This was what I considered the height, climax, and acme of hospitality. "Only," he warned me as we drove to the station to meet her, "try to remain, within bounds. The only thing I ha--criticize about Bee is that she makes such a coward of you. Remember when she tries to browbeat you, that _I_ consider your taste and common sense better than hers, and that in any stand you take I am back of you, no matter what it is." I pressed the Angel's hand gratefully. Bee's train was appallingly near, and my blissful married independence was rapidly degenerating into my former state of jelly-like sisterly dependence. Bee is one of those persons who, consciously or unconsciously, make you feel the moment you meet her the difference between your clothes and hers. I had almost forgotten this, but the second she stepped from the train I was invisibly informed of the distance between us. I had put on my best, and Aubrey said I looked very well, but in Bee's first sweeping glance at me I felt sure that my dress was wrong in the back.