“Well--well, if I did I ought to be ashamed of myself,” she protested. “Anyhow, he was sociable and everyday enough this time. Why, I felt as if I’d known him all my life. Did you hear him ask me to drop in and see him and Esther any time I felt like it? I--I believe I’ll do it some Sunday afternoon. Of course I’ve been up to the mansion two or three times, when Arabella had a church committee tea or somethin’, but I’ve never been there to _call_.” Reliance smiled. “He can be nice enough, if he wants to be,” she said; “but it has to be _when_ he wants. Esther seemed to be happy, I thought, didn’t you?” Abbie Makepeace gasped. “Happy!” she repeated. “I should think she might be! My soul to man! Wouldn’t you be happy if you’d been just the same as adopted by a man with a million o’ dollars? Of course she’s happy; she’s goin’ to have everything on earth she wants from now on.... You mustn’t be jealous, Reliance. Think of her.” Reliance picked up the bonnet she had been at work upon when their visitors came. She shook her head. “Who do you think I’ve been thinkin’ about, for goodness sakes?” she demanded. “There, there! get me that ribbon on the shelf behind you. What is that verse I hear the boys sayin’? “‘The rich they ride in chaises. The poor they--’” Miss Makepeace interrupted. “My soul!” she exclaimed, aghast. “That’s a swearin’ piece! I never expected to hear you swear, Reliance Clark.” “Well, you haven’t heard me yet, have you? I was goin’ to say that the poor had to make bonnets. Let’s make ’em. We’ve lost more than an hour already.” “_I_ don’t call it losin’.... Humph! I believe you _are_ jealous. I don’t see why you need to be. You are goin’ up there to have dinner next Sunday. I heard him ask you. There’d be plenty of people in Harniss who’ll be jealous of _you_ when they hear that. And it pleased Esther almost to death, his invitin’ you. I could see that it did.” It had, of course, and the certainty that it would was the reason why Foster Townsend had extended the invitation. Esther had a happy day. That evening she sang and played and her uncle’s praise was even more whole-hearted than on the previous occasion. It was nice of him to say such things. He had been very nice to her all that day. And his calling on her aunt, of his own accord, and asking the latter and Uncle Millard to dinner on Sunday was the nicest of all. It seemed almost as if her mother must have been mistaken in thinking him such a dreadful man. Either that, or he was sorry he had been so proud and unreasonable and stubborn, and was determined to make amends to his brother’s daughter. If he kept on behaving as he had this day she knew she would like him--she could not help it.