As the short March afternoon was wearing to a close Beatrice soon rose to go, after first asking how long the Mortons intended to remain in the city. “We have written to mother to know if she can receive us,” Mrs. Morton said, “and shall go as soon as we get her answer. I am afraid we shall crowd and worry her too much, for the house is small, and she and father are old and poor, and may not want us all.” “Never mind, Mollie,” Theo said, “don’t kill the bear till you see it;” then, turning to Beatrice, he added, not complaining, but laughingly, “Mollie has a great way of borrowing trouble, while I wait till it comes.” “It’s my poor health; my nerves; I can’t help it,” the invalid said, with a quiver in her voice and about her lips. “Of course you can’t, Mollie,” and again the broad, warm hand was placed upon Mollie’s head by way of reassurance. Theo went with Bee to her carriage, and handed her in, and told her to come again, and said he would call on her, and was not one whit more demonstrative when alone with her than he was up in that back room with his nervous wife looking on. But Bee did not quite believe he was perfectly happy. How could he be with _Mollie_. And yet she was very sorry for Mollie, who, she was sure, was a much better woman than herself, and the next day, which was very fine, she drove again to No.—— Eighth street, and invited the sick woman to ride. “The coupé is close, and I brought an extra shawl to keep you nice and warm,” she said, as she threw over Mrs. Morton’s shoulders her second-best India shawl, which covered up the black delaine, trimmed with half-worn silk, which Mollie wore. It was her best, Bee knew, for little Trix had said, exultingly, “Ma’s got on her bestest down to day.” “Yes, my best, and almost my all,” Mrs. Morton said, “but I have money for a new one; some English ladies give it me, and told me to get a black silk. I’ve never had one in my life: would you mind going with me somewhere and helping me pick it out: you are a so much better judge of silk than I am?” Bee flinched a little inwardly as she looked at the dowdy woman, in her queer, old-fashioned bonnet, and thought of the fashionable ladies, her friends, who were sure to be shopping at this hour, and who always spied her out and pounced upon her. But she shut her teeth together hard, bade the coachman drive to Arnold’s, resolved to beard the elegant man at the silk counter, who was always so obsequious to Miss Belknap, the heiress and belle. Everybody was out that day, and Bee met at least half a dozen friends before she reached the silk counter, where she found her man, bland, attentive, and eager to serve her. “Black silk,” she said, and he showed her at once samples varying in price from eight to ten dollars a yard.