Then they began to find the dainty dresses, and lengths of fine materials that Dorothea had brought and, like four women anywhere, they were completely absorbed in fingering them and admiring them, each, no doubt, wondering if they would be becoming. They laughed and joked, praising this or that piece of silk, or camel’s hair, or de beige, and forgetting everything else for the time being. Then suddenly Dorothea stopped talking and listened. She had heard a gentle knocking at the door. “Some one wishes to come in, Aunt Parthenia,” she said, calling attention to the summons. But as she spoke the door slowly opened and there appeared on the threshold, the dearest, sweetest white-haired little lady that Dorothea had ever seen, who at the sight of the finery scattered about, clasped her hands in delight. “Fal-lals!” she exclaimed. “Oh joy!” “Oh, Imogene,” cried Mrs. May, “here are things that will delight your heart. I didn’t know you were in. But this is Susie’s daughter from England who has just arrived. I’m sure you’ll love her.” Dorothea’s heart went out, on the instant, to this lady who, with a smile of welcome, came swiftly into the room and held out her arms. “Your mother was my dearest friend, my child,” she said in a low, musical voice that seemed to thrill the girl. “I am overjoyed to see her daughter.” CHAPTER V CONFIDENCES For a moment Miss Imogene’s white hair gave Dorothea the impression that she was quite an old lady; but that quickly vanished. There were no betraying wrinkles in the bright face and the girl was puzzled, for, in spite of a certain youthfulness, there was also the suggestion of a past generation in the ways of this new-found friend. Miss Imogene was very small, with the tiniest hands and feet, and she walked as if borne from place to place upon the air. When she spoke it was in a gentle, plaintive voice which seemed to belie the sprightly expressions she used and the sparkling wit and raillery that were ever ready on her tongue. She was dressed daintily and with care. The material of her gown was far from fine, and the ribbons and ornaments of the luxurious days before the war were absent. Nevertheless she had the manner of wearing costly stuffs and carried herself with a certain style that was the envy of many a younger woman. She embraced Dorothea tenderly, with a little catch of her breath as if this meeting brought back vivid remembrances of past joys and sorrows. Then holding the girl at arms’ length she surveyed her critically with sparkling black eyes. “Bless me, Parthenia!” she exclaimed, “she is as dark as I am, and yet I can see my dear Susie’s face again. We shall love each other,” she went on directly to Dorothea. “I intend to make you love me for your mother’s sake.” “I think I love you already,” Dorothea answered half-shyly. Indeed this quaint little lady had the knack of winning those with whom she came into contact.