“And that is just the reason you will come to-morrow,” Queenie said, coaxingly. “It is my first family party, and you will not be so uncivil as to refuse. I shall expect you without fail,” and with a smile and flash of her eyes, which stirred even staid Tom Ferguson a little, Reinette drove away, saying to Phil, who was going to ride home with her and then walk back to the Knoll: “I hope he _will_ come, for I could see that Anna did not wish him to. Such airs as she has taken on since she split up that sign and quit the business, as she terms it! Does she suppose it is what one does which makes a lady? Oh, Phil, why is there such a difference between people of the same blood? There’s your mother, as cultivated and refined as if she had been born a princess, and there’s Anna and grandma, and Uncle Tom. Is it American democracy? If so, I am afraid I don’t like it;” and, leaning back in the carriage, Queenie looked very sober, while Phil said good-humoredly: “In rebellion against the Fergusons again, I see. It will never do to go against your family; blood is blood, and there’s no getting rid of it or of _us_.” “I have no wish to be rid of you, but I may as well confess it, I do wish mother had been somebody besides a Ferguson,” Reinette replied; then added, laughingly: “Don’t think me a monster—I can’t help the feeling; it was born in me, and father fostered it; but I am trying to overcome it, you see, for haven’t I invited them all to dinner? You must come early, Phil—very early, so as to help me through.” Phil promised, and as they had reached Hetherton Place by this time, and it was beginning to grow dark, he bade her good-night, and walked rapidly back to the Knoll. CHAPTER XXI. THE DINNER. True to her promise, Reinette drove round to see Margery the next morning, and carried a pile of dresses which scarcely needed a stitch, but which she insisted should be changed, as she knew Margery needed work. She found her friend well and delighted with the cottage, which suited her in every particular. Mrs. La Rue, too, was very calm and quiet, and only spoke to Reinette when spoken to, until the latter, in speaking of Hetherton Place and how lonely she was there at times, especially in the evening, when Phil was not with her, said: “I am going to hunt up my old nurse, who was with mother when she died. She is alive, I am sure, and somewhere in England or France. I shall have her come to live with me.” Mrs. La Rue was standing with her back to Reinette, picking the dead leaves from a pot of carnations, but she turned suddenly, and facing the girl, said quickly: “Better leave the nurse where she is; you will be happier without her.” “I don’t know why you should say that,” Reinette retorted, in a tone which showed her irritation that Mrs. La Rue should presume to dictate; “you certainly can know nothing of Christine Bodine.”