“My niece will be very happy to see you,” she reported, rather formally, her eyes darkling into vague trouble or doubt as she said it. On the way across the hall she added hurriedly to May: “We never overpersuade her to meet strangers. In this case there was no need.” May’s gloved hand sought hers with a swift, involuntary gesture. It was the merest touch that emphasized the low “Thank you!” but both struck straight home to Hetty’s heart. The Gilchrist tact was inimitable. Hester lay upon a lounge, propped into a sitting posture with pillows. Her hair and drapings were cunningly disposed. A casual eye would not have penetrated the secret of the withered limbs and curved spine. A red spot like a rose-leaf rested upon each cheek, her eyes shone, and her silent smile revealed small, perfect teeth like a two-year-old baby’s. She was so winsome that May stooped impulsively to kiss her as she would a pretty child. “I came to tell you how angry we all are—my father, mother, and I—with my brother and his dog for scaring you to-day,” she said, seating herself on an ottoman by the lounge, and retaining hold of the wee hand until it ceased to twitch and burn in hers. “I did think Thor knew better! His tail committed innumerable apologies to me when I told him I hoped to see you this evening.” March and Hetty, chatting together near the crackling wood fire, caught presently sentences relative to colors and pencils and portfolios, and slackened their talk to listen. May had elicited the confession that Hester’s brush was a solace and the only pastime she had “except reading and Hetty’s music.” “But it’s only trying with me,” said the tuneless voice. “I have had no teacher except Hetty.” “My dear Hester!” cried the person named. “Be candid, and say ‘worse than none!’” Hester colored vividly at this evidence that her confidences to her new friend were shared by others, but rallied gallantly to support her assertion. “She doesn’t think she has any talent for drawing, but she took lessons for three months that she might teach me how to shade and manage perspective, and use water colors. She and I amuse ourselves with caricatures and all that, and I make drawings—very poor ones—to illustrate poems and stories, while she reads to me, and I do a little—you can’t imagine _how_ little and how badly!—in color. Just bits, you know—grass and mossy sticks, and brambles running over stones, and frost-bitten leaves—and such things. Hetty is always on the lookout for studies for me. I cannot sit up long enough to undertake anything more important if I had the skill. And I shouldn’t dare venture to copy anything really beautiful—such as apple blossoms,” with a short-lived smile at March that left a plait between her eyes. Intercepting Hetty’s apprehensive glance, he smiled in return, but forbore to introduce the petition left with them that afternoon. May had been stringent on this point.