It was during the second spring that Mrs. Fanshaw came. Because of the little matron Jean had finally broken her resolve to write no letters home, whereupon her mother accepted the change as a sign of repentance which, after a seemly interval, she decided to encourage with her presence. Jean was keenly expectant of the promised visit. With the shifting of her whole point of view she now blamed herself for many of the things, so petty taken one by one, so serious in gross, which had made her home life what it was; and out of the reaction there welled an unguessed tenderness for her mother, shy of written expression, but eager to confess itself in deed. The official who brought Jean to the waiting-room and remained near during the interview need not have turned a tactful back upon their meeting for Mrs. Fanshaw's sake. That lady was as composed as the best usage of Shawnee Springs's truly genteel could dictate under circumstances so untoward. Her features reflected the most decorous blend of pious resignation and parental compassion when the slender blue-and-white figure flung itself from the doorway into her arms, and she permitted the penitent to remain upon the bosom of her best alpaca for an appreciable space of time with full knowledge that a waterfall of lace, divers silken bows, and a long gold chain were lamentably crushed by the impact. "Concentrate, child," she admonished firmly. "How often I've told you to aim at self-control at all times!" Jean clung to her in a passion of homesickness, hearing nothing. "Mother! Mother!" she repeated. Mrs. Fanshaw detached herself, repaired the ravages, and turned a critical eye upon her daughter. "What a fright they've made of you!" she sighed. "The color of that dress is becoming enough, but the pattern! What _have_ you been doing to your hair?" "My hair?" Jean fingered her braid vaguely. "Oh! You mean at the front? It must be plain, you know." "And your hands! You never kept them like Amelia's, but now--why, they might be a day-laborer's." "They are," said Jean. But Mrs. Fanshaw's interest had fluttered elsewhere. "I can't be too thankful that I spared Amelia this ordeal," she went on. "Amelia was anxious to come. She said she felt it was her duty, but I refused. She is so sensitive she could not have borne it. To see her own sister in such clothes and in such surroundings would have made an indelible impression." Jean now had herself only too well in hand. "I dare say the refuge might tarnish Amelia's girlish bloom," she retorted dryly. "I hope you'll feel no bad effects yourself, mother."