What an idea! and yet when Susan thought it over it did not seem unlikely, for Mademoiselle always spoke with great admiration of "Madame Jones" as an acquaintance to be much valued. "A noble-hearted being," she had called her more than once. Susan wondered what Margaretta and Nanna would think of her if she came. They always talked so much about appearance, and manner, and dress, and if they disapproved of it they said, "rather common." They would certainly call Madame Jones "rather common," for they would not understand about her noble heart; and indeed Susan remembered she should not have done so herself without Mademoiselle's explanation. It was a pity that when people had noble hearts it did not make them look noble outside, and she ended by hoping very much that Madame Jones would not come. It was between four and five o'clock in the afternoon of the expected visit, and the little girls were alone together. Aunt Hannah had promised that Mademoiselle should have a snug tea with them upstairs if she came alone, so that they were awaiting her arrival with some anxiety. Susan could not help a little secret hope now that she would _not_ be alone, so that the dreaded meeting might be deferred. Sophia Jane had made no further reference to the collar, but Susan felt as much abashed in her presence as any prisoner before his judge, and sometimes found it difficult to talk. She gave a timid look at her; she was in a large arm-chair close to the fire, very much covered up and surrounded by pillows, in the midst of which she looked like a small white mouse in a red-flannel gown. Her features were sharpened by illness, and she still insisted on wearing Aunt Hannah's cap; but though all this made her more like an old woman than a child, there was to-day a softened light in her blue eyes which Susan noticed at once. She had never seen it there before. She took courage. "Do you suppose," she said, glancing at black Dinah, "that Margaretta will let you play with Dinah when you are well?" "I don't want to get well," said Sophia Jane at once. "Don't--want--to get--well!" repeated Susan in surprise. "I shouldn't mind always being ill," said Sophia Jane. "Everyone's kind, no one scolds you; you have nice things to eat, and lemonade. I don't want to get well." "I want you to get well to play with me again," said Susan. "And I know everybody wants you to get well." "Why do they?" asked the invalid. "Oh, because--of course they do," was the only reason Susan could give. "Well," said Sophia Jane thoughtfully, "of course there's the trouble of it, and the doctor to pay." She wrinkled her brow as she said this, and looked sideways at Susan with her old cunning expression. "Oh, it isn't that," said Susan very earnestly; "why, they're all dreadfully sorry. That night you were worst, you know, Aunt Hannah cried, and every one, and so did Buskin." "I don't think I should cry if they were ill," said Sophia Jane after some reflection.