“Oh! Why-good morning, Miss Neilson,” murmured Miss Greggory with a smile so forced that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea in search of a possible peacemaker. “My dear, see,” she stammered, “what Miss Neilson has brought me. And it's so full of blossoms, too! And she says it'll remain so for a long, long time--if we'll only keep it wet.” Alice Greggory murmured a low something--a something that she tried, evidently, very hard to make politely appropriate and appreciative. Yet her manner, as she took off her hat and coat and sat down, so plainly said: “You are very kind, of course, but I wish you would keep yourself and your plants at home!” that Mrs. Greggory began a hurried apology, much as if the words had indeed been spoken. “My daughter is really ill this morning. You mustn't mind--that is, I'm afraid you'll think--you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold--and she isn't over it, yet,” finished the little woman in painful embarrassment. “Of course she took cold--standing all those hours in that horrid wind, Friday!” cried Billy, indignantly. A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. Billy saw it at once and fervently wished she had spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon. It looked almost as if she were _reminding_ them of what she had done that day. In her confusion, and in her anxiety to say something--anything that would get their minds off that idea--she uttered now the first words that came into her head. As it happened, they were the last words that sober second thought would have told her to say. “Never mind, Mrs. Greggory. We'll have her all well and strong soon; never fear! Just wait till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out for a drive one of these mild, sunny days. You have no idea how much good it will do her!” Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet. Her face was very white now. Her eyes had the steely coldness that Billy knew so well. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and sternly controlled. “Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of course, especially after your great kindness to me the other day; but I can't help it. It seems to me best to speak now before it goes any further.” “Alice, dear,” remonstrated Mrs. Greggory, extending a frightened hand. The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate; but she caught the extended hand and held it warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats, while she went on speaking. “I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is best, for the present, that we keep quite to ourselves. I cannot question your kindness, of course, after your somewhat unusual favor the other day; but I am very sure that your friends, Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real desire to make my acquaintance, nor--if you'll pardon me--have I, under the circumstances, any wish to make theirs.” “Oh, Alice, Alice,” began the little mother, in dismay; but a rippling laugh from their visitor brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.