The tall footman cast a look of unutterable disgust at his fellow-servant on the box, and, striding up the path, gave a pull at the humble little bell that filled the whole house with its tinkling. Mrs. Laurence came to the door, grim and gaunt, but neat in her dress, and composed in manner. “Does Mrs. Laurence live here?” inquired the tall footman, striking his gloves together, as if the bell-handle had left offensive dust on them. “I am Mrs. Laurence.” “Ah, indeed! This is the lady, marum.” Mrs. Carter came forward, smiling blandly, and holding out her straw-colored glove with an air of sublime condescension. Mrs. Laurence took the tightly-gloved hand stiffly enough, and let it fall from her clasp without a smile. She had suffered, this poor widow, and smiles did not come easily to her face; but if cold, she was well-bred, and stood aside that her strange guest might enter the little passage-way, and pass through the open parlor-door. “How cozy—how exquisite!” exclaimed Mrs. Carter, glancing around at the snow white muslin curtains and the neat furniture, which would have been poverty-stricken in other houses. “No wonder my dear brother was so charmed. ‘Such a contrast!’ he said, when he found me in my ‘boudoir bower chamber,’ he says, they used to call it, in old times. ‘Such a contrast,’ says he, ‘between you and them—between this and that! You with everything grand and sumptuous; they nothing but taste—pure, aesthetic taste! Their little room is a bijou!’ Just as I find it!” Mrs. Carter seated herself as she spoke, and turned her full-blown, smiling face on Ruth, who answered her appeal with a look of gentle welcome; while her mother stood by, evidently waiting to learn why her humble home had been so grandly invaded. Mrs. Carter observed this, and waved her hand benignly. “Sit down! sit down, Mrs. Laurence; have no hesitation about it. I have been a poor woman myself; so, never mind the apron, but sit down. My call is for you as well as the young people!” Mrs. Laurence took a seat near the door, and muttered something about being “a hard-working woman,” which Mrs. Carter took up at once. “‘Hard-working!’ Don’t mention it, my dear madam! Your little housework here is nothing to what I have thrown upon me. What with receptions, shopping, promiscuous calls, regulating servants, the torment of dress-makers, and entertaining Carter’s friends, I am just worn out. Sometimes I think the happiest time of a woman’s life is when she lives in two rooms, and carries her baby about on one arm, while she does her work with the other!” “Still,” said Ruth, with a quiet smile, “we seldom find ladies willing to give up prosperity and go back to that life.”