This morning came Aunt Frank. I knew she had returned from Bermuda, so I wasn't surprised to see her dumpy figure appear in Mrs. Whitney's parlour, followed by Uncle Timothy's broad back and towering head. I did with zest the honours of the apartment. It was sweet revenge to see Mrs. Baker's nervous discomfort at meeting me, and to watch her stealing furtive glances at my beautiful home. "Well, Nelly, dear," she said, "you look very cosey, but we expected that, after your visit to Mrs. Van Dam, you would go to Marcia until our return." "Oh, I couldn't think of troubling either of you," I said sweetly; "I have friends to whom it is a real pleasure to advise me." That shot told. "You don't know what anxiety you've caused, leaving us for--for strangers, that way," she retorted, bridling; "but since you _would_ go, I'm glad everything's turned out so--been having your portrait painted? Why, it's a--it _is_ a Van Nostrand!"--She had spied the painting.--"It's like you, rather; but--doesn't he charge a fortune?" Then she rattled on, about the rooms, about Bermuda lilies and donkey carts, trying now and again to pry into my plans and urging me, not too warmly, to return to her, until she had reached the limits of a call of courtesy. I think it was with real relief that she rose as she received my final refusal. Uncle, who had sat silent in kind, or blind, perplexity, was unfeignedly glad to go. "Run in often, won't you?" she said, at parting. "I hear--but perhaps I shouldn't speak of that. Is--is Lord Strathay like his pictures?" Fussy! She'd gladly wash her hands of me, yet thinks she has a duty. But I was glad, for once, to see her. It's not for nothing that I have run society's gauntlet; I can aim confetti with the best of them; innocent-looking but they hurt. Scarcely had they gone when in rushed the General and my prim duenna, Mrs. Whitney; they'd been waiting until the coast was clear. It was with something like a scream that the two flew at me, crying in one voice:-- "Have you _really_ refused to be one of Peggy's bridesmaids? Why didn't you consult _me_?" Peggy despairs of Mr. Poultney; she's going to marry some person in Standard Oil, and her wedding will be a function. "Yes," I said, ignoring the latter question. "But why--_why_--" Mrs. Whitney squeaked and panted, and her breath failed. "Because--was it because Ann Fredericks was asked too?" Meg demanded. "Yes, if you must know." "But what has Ann done?" said Meg. She planted herself in front of me, her hard, handsome eyes blazing with impatience. "She's as homely as the Sunset Cox statue and as uncivil to you as she dares; but she's only a cousin of _the_ Frederickses, you mustn't mind her. What has Ann done, Helen?" "She weighs two hundred and they call her 'Baby'! She's a fat slug on a currant bush! I won't talk about her." I dashed into my room but Meg's staccato reached me even there. "Just like Helen! Imagine Mrs. Henry's state of mind."