“Dr. Ballard must love Cousin Eloise very much,” said Jewel, mashing her potato.  “He sent her a splendid box of candy, too.”

She addressed her remark to Mrs. Forbes, and in a low tone, in order not to disturb her grandfather’s reading.

“Any girl can get candy and flowers and love, if she’s only pretty enough,” returned Mrs. Forbes; “but she mustn’t forget to be pretty.”

The speaker’s tone appealed to Jewel as signifying a grievance.  She looked up.

“Why, somebody married you, Mrs. Forbes,” she said kindly.

Mr. Evringham’s paper hid a face which suddenly contorted, but the housekeeper’s quick-glancing eyes could not see a telltale motion.

She gave a hard little laugh.  “You think there’s hope for you then, do you?” she returned.

“I guess I’m not going to be married,” replied Jewel.  “Father says I’m going to be his bachelor maid when I grow up.”

“Shouldn’t wonder if you were,” said Mrs. Forbes dryly.

The owner of the American Beauties and the beribboned bonbon box was taking her coffee as usual in bed.  This luxurious habit had never been hers until she came to Bel-Air; but it was her mother’s custom, and rather than undergo a tete-a-tete breakfast with her host, she had adopted it.

Now she had made her toilet deliberately.  There was nothing to hurry for.  Her mother’s voice came in detached sentences and questions from the next room.

“Dear me, this rain is too trying, Eloise!  Didn’t you have some engagement with Dr. Ballard to-day?”

“He thought he could get off for some golf this afternoon.”

“What a disappointment for the dear fellow,” feelingly.  “He has so little time to himself!”

Eloise gave a most unsympathetic laugh.  “More than he wishes he had, I fancy,” she returned.

She came finally in her white negligee into her mother’s room.  Mrs. Evringham was still in bed.  Her eyeglasses were on and she regarded her daughter critically as she came in sight.  She had begun to look upon her as mistress of the fine old Ballard place on Mountain Avenue, and the setting was very much to her mind.  The girl sauntered over to the window, and taking a low seat, leaned her head against the woodwork, embowered in the lace curtains.

“How it does come down!” said Mrs. Evringham fretfully.  “And I lack just a little of that lace braid, or I could finish your yoke.  I suppose Forbes would think it was a dreadful thing if I asked her to let Zeke get it for me.”

“Don’t ask anything,” returned Eloise.

“When you are in your own home!” sighed Mrs. Evringham.

“Don’t, mother.  It’s indecent!”

“If you would only reassure me, my child, so I wouldn’t have to undergo such moments of anxiety as I do.”

“Oh, you have no mercy!” exclaimed the girl; and when she used that tone her mother usually became tearful.  She did now.