Produced by Annie McGuire THE TRANSFIGURATION OF MISS PHILURA [Illustration: Mrs. Smart's Theme was Thought Forces and the Infinite [_See page 18_] THE TRANSFIGURATION OF MISS PHILURA _By_ FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY _THIRTEENTH EDITION_ FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY NEW YORK AND LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY _Registered at Stationers' Hall, London, England_ [PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA] Hour-Glass Stories Edition. Published March, 1902 * * * * * CHAPTER ONE Miss Philura Rice tied her faded bonnet-strings under her faded chin with hands that trembled a little; then she leaned forward and gazed anxiously at the reflection which confronted her. A somewhat pinched and wistful face it was, with large, light-lashed blue eyes, arched over with a mere pretense at eyebrows. More than once in her twenties Miss Philura had ventured to eke out this scanty provision of Nature with a modicum of burned match stealthily applied in the privacy of her virgin chamber. But the twenties, with their attendant dreams and follies, were definitely past; just how long past no one knew exactly--Miss Philura never informed the curious on this point. As for the insufficient eyebrows, they symbolized, as it were, a meagre and restricted life, vaguely acknowledged as the dispensation of an obscurely hostile but consistent Providence; a Providence far too awful and exalted--as well as hostile--to interest itself benignantly in so small and neutral a personality as stared back at her from the large, dim mirror of Cousin Maria Van Deuser's third-story back bedroom. Not that Miss Philura ever admitted such dubious thoughts to the select circle of her conscious reflections; more years ago than she cared to count she had grappled with her discontent, had thrust it resolutely out of sight, and on the top of it she had planted a big stone marked Resignation. Nevertheless, at times the stone heaved and trembled ominously. * * * * * At sound of a brisk tap at her chamber door the lady turned with a guilty start to find the fresh-colored, impertinent face of the French maid obtruding itself into the room. "Ze madame waits," announced this individual, and with a coldly comprehensive eye swept the small figure from head to foot. "Yes, yes, my dear, I am quite ready--I am coming at once!" faltered Miss Philura, with a propitiatory smile, and more than ever painfully aware that the skirt of her best black gown was irremediably short and scant, that her waist was too flat, her shoulders too sloping, her complexion faded, her forehead wrinkled, and her bonnet unbecoming. As she stepped uncertainly down the dark, narrow stairway she rebuked herself severely for these vain and worldly thoughts. "To be a church member, in good and regular standing, and a useful member of society," she assured herself strenuously, "should be and _is_ sufficient for me."