“It would hurt her pride too much. Don’t you see, the Porters are not at all well off,—I don’t mean quite poor, but I mean they have to scrimp to get along,—but they’re fearfully proud. Jeanette would be quite willing to say she couldn’t afford a new frock, but she’d die before she’d let any one give her one.” “Well, I think that’s silly. Just because I happen to have more money than she has, is the very reason I ought to give her a dress.” “It does seem so,” admitted Dorothy, “but it isn’t so, and don’t you ever propose it to her again, for it won’t be a bit of good, and it only makes her angry.” “Well, I won’t, then, but won’t it be horrid not to have Jeanette at the reception? It takes all the fun out of it for us, I think.” “Yes, I think so, too; and look here, Betty, don’t you tell anybody the reason why Jeanette’s not coming. She told us, of course, but she knew we wouldn’t tell.” “Didn’t she tell Miss Whittier?” “Of course not, silly. Though most likely Miss Whittier guessed.” “But you said Jeanette would just as lief tell it.” “Well, she might tell it to us, not to any one else. I declare, Betty, you don’t seem to have any gumption about some things!” “No,” said Betty, rather meekly, for she was often bothered by her lack of “gumption” about matters which were new to her experience. On reaching her own home, she went straight to her mother with the story. Mrs. McGuire sat reading in the pleasant library, and looked up with a loving smile as Betty entered rather abruptly. “And will you tell me, Mother,” she concluded, after she had poured out her indignation, “why Jeanette should get so angry at what I said?” “You can’t understand, deary,” said her mother, smoothing Betty’s tangled dark curls, “that peculiar pride which revolts at accepting anything of money value from anybody outside one’s own family. It is, perhaps, especially a New England trait, and your own Irish heart is so big it leaves no room for the Puritan instincts which are also yours by inheritance. But Dorothy is right, dear, and you must not repeat your offer to Jeanette, though I, too, am sorry that it is not possible.” “But, Mother, if I could think of some way to give her a dress without letting her know where it came from, wouldn’t that do?” “Hardly, dear. She would know at once that you had sent it, and would, of course, be offended.” “Oh, dear! I think people are just silly.” “That may be, but you can’t make the world different in a moment. Come to luncheon now, and tell me all about your own plans for the reception.” “All right; but, Mother, I’m going to find some way for Jeanette to go to it, too. I don’t know how yet, but you see if I can’t fix it somehow!” “Very well, Betty; but don’t do anything without consulting me.” “No, I won’t, and I haven’t thought of anything yet, but I’m sure I shall.”