"Well, I had this delicious morning to myself, and in the afternoon we played tennis at the Athertons'. There were no visitors, but we girls played by ourselves, and I had a long talk with Grace Donnerton. I liked her better than ever; but just as she was talking to me about her sister's hospital, Maud Atherton disturbed us by telling us tea was ready. "The next morning Edna drove me over to Kimberley--such a lovely drive; and the ponies were so frisky and went so well. We called at a beautiful old house, called Kimberley Hall--I never saw such a place--and had luncheon there. Mrs. Blondell, our hostess, is such a dear old lady, with pretty white curls, and such a sweet old face. Her husband is such a handsome old man; but he is quite deaf, and no one seems to make him hear anything except his wife, and she goes up and speaks to him in a low, distinct voice, and tells him things, and he brightens up at once. He is such a courtly old man, and pays little old-fashioned compliments. He took Edna's hand and said, 'We do not often see a pretty young face, my dear, but it is a very pleasant sight. I remember your mother when she was a girl, and a fine, handsome creature she was. I think her daughter does her credit, eh, Dolly?' And Dolly--that is the dear old lady's name--put her pretty old hand on his arm, and said, 'She does indeed, Rupert, and she has got a look of our Maisie about her;' and then they looked at each other in such a way. "Edna explained it to me as we drove home. She said they had one child, a beautiful girl, who lived until she was seventeen, and then died of some wasting disease. She had been dead fifteen years, but the old couple had never got over her loss. 'I am there often,' Edna went on, 'but I have never once been without hearing Maisie's name mentioned; they are always talking about her. One day Mrs. Blondell took me upstairs and showed me all her things. There were her little gowns, most of them white, folded in the big wardrobe. 'She was to have worn this at her first ball,' said the poor woman, pulling down a lace dress; it looked quite fresh somehow, only the satin slip was a trifle discolored. There were the shoes, and the silk stockings, and a case of pearls, and the long gloves. 'She would have looked lovely in it,' she went on, smoothing out the folds with her tremulous fingers. 'Rupert says she would have made hearts ache. Thank you my dear, you are very kind,' for I could not help hugging the dear old thing. It made me cry, too, to hear her. 'I go there very often because they like to see me; they will have it I am like Maisie, but I am not half so pretty.' And Edna laughed, though her eyes were moist, and touched up Jill rather smartly.