of the ways and fashions of other centres of civilization, and it was a good thing to make the hours seem shorter.  The poor old lady had few alleviations; even religion had served her rather as a basis for argument than an accepted reliance and guide; and though she still prided herself on her selection of words, those which she used in formal conversations with the clergyman seemed more empty and meaningless than most others.  Mrs. Fraley was leaving this world reluctantly; she had been well fitted by nature for social preeminence, and had never been half satisfied with the opportunities provided for the exercise of her powers.  It was only lately that she had been forced to acknowledge that Time showed signs of defeating her in the projects of her life, and she had begun to give up the fight altogether, and to mourn bitterly and aggressively to her anxious and resourceless daughter.  It was plain enough that the dissatisfactions and infirmities of age were more than usually great, and poor Eunice was only too glad when the younger Miss Prince proved herself capable of interesting the old friend of her family, and Mrs. Fraley took heart and suggested both informal visits and future entertainments.  The prudent daughter was careful not to tell her mother of the guest’s revolutionary ideas, and for a time all went well, until some unwise person, unaware of Miss Fraley’s warning gestures from the other side of the sitting-room, proceeded to give a totally unnecessary opinion of the propriety of women’s studying medicine.  Poor Eunice expected that a sharp rebuke, followed by a day or two’s disdain and general unpleasantness, would descend upon her quaking shoulders; but, to her surprise, nothing was said until the next morning, when she was bidden, at much inconvenience to the household, to invite Miss Prince and her niece to come that afternoon to drink tea quite informally.

There was a pathetic look in the messenger’s faded face,—­she felt unusually at odds with fortune as she glided along the street, sheltered by the narrow shadows of the high fences.  Nan herself came to the door, and when she threw back the closed blinds and discovered the visitor, she drew her in with most cordial welcome, and the two friends entered the darkened south parlor, where it was cool, and sweet with the fragrance of some honeysuckle which Nan had brought in early that morning from the garden.

“Dear me,” said the little woman deprecatingly.  “I don’t know why I came in at all.  I can’t stop to make a call.  Mother was very desirous that you and your aunt should come over to tea this evening.  It seems a good deal to ask in such hot weather, but she has so little to amuse her, and I really don’t see that the weather makes much difference, she used to feel the heat very much years ago.”  And Miss Eunice gave a sigh, and fanned herself slowly, letting the fan which had been put into her hand turn itself quite over on her lap before it came up again.  There was an air of antique elegance about this which amused Nan, who stood by the table wiping with her handkerchief some water that had dropped from the vase.  A great many of the ladies in church the Sunday before had fanned themselves in this same little languishing way; she remembered one or two funny old persons in Oldfields who gave themselves airs after the same fashion.