_Miss Reed_: “I’m that now. I can’t be more so—there’s that comfort. What makes you think he’ll call?” _Miss Spaulding_: “Because he’s a gentleman, and will want to apologize. He behaved very rudely to you.” _Miss Reed_: “No, Nettie; _I_ behaved rudely to _him_. Yes! Besides, if he behaved rudely, he was no gentleman. It’s a contradiction in terms, don’t you see? But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do if he comes. I’m going to show a proper spirit for once in my life. I’m going to refuse to see him. You’ve got to see him.” _Miss Spaulding_: “Nonsense!” _Miss Reed_: “Why nonsense? Oh, why? Expound!” _Miss Spaulding_: “Because he wasn’t rude to me, and he doesn’t want to see me. Because I’m plain, and you’re pretty.” _Miss Reed_: “I’m _not_! You know it perfectly well. I’m hideous.” _Miss Spaulding_: “Because I’m poor, and you’re a person of independent property.” _Miss Reed_: “_Dependent_ property, I should call it: just enough to be useless on! But that’s insulting to _him_. How can you say it’s because I have a little money?” _Miss Spaulding_: “Well, then, I won’t. I take it back. I’ll say it’s because you’re young, and I’m old.” _Miss Reed_: “You’re _not_ old. You’re as young as anybody, Nettie Spaulding. And you know I’m not young; I’m twenty-seven, if I’m a day. I’m just dropping into the grave. But I can’t argue with you, miles off so, any longer.” _Miss Reed_ appears at the open door, dragging languidly after her the shawl which she had evidently drawn round her on the sofa; her fair hair is a little disordered, and she presses it into shape with one hand as she comes forward; a lovely flush vies with a heavenly pallor in her cheeks; she looks a little pensive in the arching eyebrows, and a little humorous about the dimpled mouth. “Now I can prove that you are entirely wrong. Where—were you?—This room is rather an improvement over the one we had last winter. There is more of a view”—she goes to the window—“of the houses across the Place; and I always think the swell front gives a pretty shape to a room. I’m sorry they’ve stopped building them. Your piano goes very nicely into that little alcove. Yes, we’re quite palatial. And, on the whole, I’m glad there’s no fireplace. It’s a pleasure at times; but for the most part it’s a vanity and a vexation, getting dust and ashes over everything. Yes; after all, give me the good old-fashioned, clean, convenient register! Ugh! My feet are like ice.” She pulls an easy-chair up to the register in the corner of the room, and pushes open its valves with the toe of her slipper. As she settles herself luxuriously in the chair, and poises her feet daintily over the register: “Ah, this is something like! Henrietta Spaulding, ma’am! Did I ever tell you that you were the best friend I have in the world?” _Miss Spaulding_, who continues her work of arranging the room: “Often.” _Miss Reed_: “Did you ever believe it?” _Miss Spaulding_: “Never.”