Although Mrs. Grey had spent a large part of her life in the city of Gotham, that was not, at this time, her home. When they had a house full of boys and girls she and her husband met with so many annoyances in their summer resorts, growing out of such a flock to dispose of, that they at last secured a large house in the vicinity, thereby not only adding greatly to the comfort of the family, but improving their health, since, with a table at her command, Mrs. Grey could provide wholesome food for her family. Mr. Grey's death occurred before any of the children had become settled in life, and the loneliness of her widowhood was cheered by their presence. But when, midway between fifty and sixty, she was left alone with Maud, and ceased to have any special cares, she became everybody's property, and was used by all sorts of people in all sorts of ways. Soon after her work on education appeared, she received numerous letters, asking counsel in special cases to which she had made no allusion there, the following being one:

Dear Mrs. Grey:—Charlie and I have just finished your last book, and think you must be perfectly lovely! I should like so much to see you. May I come? And if I may, will you tell me what train to take? I have so many things to say to you. And Charlie says he shall be so glad to have me come under your influence.

Your admiring friend,

Mrs. Libbie Clare.

No. —, Fifth Avenue.

Mrs. Grey's keen eye took in the measure of "Mrs. Libbie Clare" at a glance. But if it was keen it was not unkind. Turning to Margaret, who sat near, she said, "Will you answer this, and tell the child she may come out by the 9:10 train any morning this week?"

"Oh, aunty, you are not going to give up a morning to a woman who signs herself 'Mrs.'? Can't she come in the afternoon?"

"No, the days are too short."

"But, aunty, you have had no leisure for a long time, and have got intent on your book again."

"Yes, dear, I know, but here is a chance to gratify and perhaps be of use to one of those 'neighbors' we are told to love. Now, selfishness might urge me to go on with my work, but obedience to Christian duty may and ought to be stronger than self."

Margaret said no more; but she was puzzled. She did not understand the readiness shown by Mrs. Grey to be "pulled about," as she termed it. Somehow she felt sure that Mrs. Libbie Clare was not much of a woman, and was coming to exhibit herself rather than to see her aunt.

And she was right. Mrs. Clare was quite young, was very proud of her husband and children, told their whole history, gave her own views of education, and hardly allowed Mrs. Grey to utter a word. Two mortal hours she stayed, and then when she took leave, put up her mouth for a kiss, without taking her hands from her muff, said she had had a delightful visit, and hoped it would soon be returned.

Mrs. Grey went back to her desk feeling decidedly flat, and found that Margaret, according to her wont, had been illustrating her MS. with a ridiculously funny caricature of a young father holding his son and heir most awkwardly in his arms, while there proceeded from its mouth the words, "Oh, how he pinches! how he pinches!"

She laughed, cut it out, and threw it into a drawer, where kindred sketches already reposed. She had just resumed her pen when Mrs. Grosgrain was announced.

"Who is Mrs. Grosgrain?" asked Margaret. "I don't remember ever seeing or hearing of her."

"No, she was in Europe when you came here, and has only just returned. I shall want her to see you, sometime." So saying, Mrs. Grey proceeded to meet her guest, and after some animated conversation together, the latter said:

"I hear you have adopted a young orphan girl, to take the place to you of your darling Maud. Yet, I don't see how you could."

"You have not heard the story quite correctly," replied Mrs. Grey. "It is true that I have adopted a young girl of Maud's age, but not to fill her place. No one can or ought to fill that. But there were so many things left by her that were adapted to gratify the taste of a young person, and that young person a girl, that I longed to see them enjoyed. There was Maud's piano standing idle; her rooms tastefully furnished, left empty; and, to tell the truth, plenty of love in this old heart to give away. That I was to gain much, if anything, never crossed my mind. But all has turned out delightfully."

"Is she like Maud, then?"

"Not in the least. She is a girl of very marked character; once I could not have tolerated her faults. But she amuses me and keeps me young; and she is going to become a very fine woman in time."

"And in the meanwhile?"

"Why, I shall have to put up with some decided opinions and habits that are not to my mind. But I did not look for, or expect to find, a faultless character. Margaret has heart and soul; she has enthusiasm; she knows her own mind and decides upon this and that at once, and once for all. She does not care for music, as Maud did; in fact, she hates it."

"Hates it!"

Mrs. Grey smiled. "Oh, it is all love or hate with her. She can't be indifferent to anything. I found she had decided, though undeveloped, artistic talent, and she is taking lessons in drawing and painting. I never met a person who could do so many things well."

"Is not her sudden good fortune turning her head?"

"Not at all. She has too much good common sense for that. In any sphere she would have been self-reliant, and perhaps appear, to some persons, conceited. But she is too proud to be conceited."

"Proud, indeed," thought Mrs. Grosgrain, who did not comprehend the vigorous character described. "I should think she had little to be proud of. Poor Mrs. Grey, she ought to have a very different young person about her at her time of life. Some sweet, lovely girl like little Matty Rhodes. Dear Matty! I wish she had such a home as this. What a pity it all happened while I was abroad. I would have spoken a good word for the child if I had known. My sister would have been so thankful to see one of her six girls provided for."

During this soliloquy, Mrs. Grey had gone on talking, but Mrs. Grosgrain had not heard a word, and now took leave.

"Well, girls," she said, on reaching home, "I have seen Mrs. Grey, but she did not exhibit her new acquisition. Still, you must all go and call on her prize."

"I don't intend to go," said Miss Grosgrain. "Mrs. Grey ought not to expect people in society to fall in with her oddities."

"You must either call on this girl or give up Mrs. Grey altogether. She has taken her right into poor Maud's place, and is quite infatuated about her; although, from her description, I should judge her to be a disagreeable creature."

"But to expect us to associate with a person picked up out of the streets, as it were; really it is too much."

"You needn't associate with her; merely go and make a short call, just to keep up appearances with Mrs. Grey, you know."

"Why not drop Mrs. Grey, and done with it?"

"Because we can't afford to have her drop us. You seem to forget the struggle we have made to get a position, and to fancy we can maintain it without difficulty."

"We might forget it if you ever gave us a chance, but you are forever reminding us of it. People are too glad to eat our splendid dinners, and to attend our elegant parties, to drop us."

"Mrs. Grey never eats our dinners or comes to our parties. Now, girls, I am determined to keep up the acquaintance. Hers is one of the few old families we have got into; she is rich, she is popular; one meets nice people at her house, and my policy always has been and always will be, 'Hold fast what I give you and catch what you can.'"

"For my part," said Miss Mary, "I am curious to see and to put down this upstart of a girl. I flatter myself that I am gifted in that line."

"Yes, let's go," said Miss Flora, "it will be such fun!"

Accordingly, the next day, the four Misses Grosgrain went in a body to call on Margaret. She had just set her palette in order, to paint some tea-roses before they began to droop, and was anything but pleased at the interruption. The moment she laid eyes upon them she conceived an aversion for them which she found it almost impossible to conceal. They, on their part, had made up their minds that she was of low origin, and intended to make it at once clear that the visit originated in no intention to gratify her.

"Mamma has told us about your singular good fortune," began the eldest young lady, "and desired us to show our respect for Mrs. Grey by calling on you."

Instantly hurt by this intentional sting, Margaret was tempted to reply in like manner. But she controlled herself, and said, stiffly:

"My aunt's friends are welcome, of course."

"Oh, is she your aunt, after all?" cried Miss Flora. "We supposed you were not related to her in any way."

"Nor am I," replied Margaret; and condescended to no explanations.

"It was a curious freak of Mrs. Grey, taking you up so, was it not?" inquired Miss Mary in a most innocent tone. "How surprised you must have been! How strange it must seem to be suddenly introduced to such new scenes! Do excuse our curiosity, we would not do anything ill-bred for the world; but how did you contrive to ingratiate yourself so with her?"

"By no contrivance whatever; I scorn contrivance!"

"Oh, I did not mean to offend you."

"I am not offended."

"Well, touched, then. Not one of us would intentionally say anything ill-bred. Mamma has trained us so carefully! We have just returned from Europe, where we spent nearly three years. It is very improving. You ought to coax Mrs. Grey to take you abroad. You have no idea how refining it is to see works of art, and to mix with cultivated people."

"I never coax," was the reply.

"Comme elle est fiÈre!" said one sister to another.

"Et assez jaune!" said the other.

"Proud and yellow," repeated Margaret, "but unfortunately not deaf or dumb."

"Goodness! Who could fancy you understood French! What an unlucky blunder we have made."

"Our respect for Mrs. Grey—"

"Rules of good-breeding—"

"Difficult position—"

cried the sisters in chorus, each warbling a different tune, and each pretty thoroughly mortified and embarrassed. There was nothing left for it but to take leave.

"What a disagreeable scrape that girl has got us into!" said Miss Grosgrain, as soon as they were safe in their carriage.

"Well, it's rather hard, I must say," complained another, "to have to demean one's-self to visit a creature about whose antecedents one knows nothing. Where can she have picked up French, I wonder?"

"Very likely from some fellow-servant, some nursery-governess, where she has lived," cried Miss Mary.

"Now, Mary Grosgrain, you don't mean that she has been anybody's servant?"

"Well, I do not say that, positively, but I know Mrs. Grey picked her up in a tenement-house. Fancy our visiting an inmate of a tenement-house!"

"How tall she is!"

"And how she was dressed! Not a ring or a bracelet, or a bow or a puff. But of course Mrs. Grey has to keep her down."

"I saw a great smooch of paint on her sleeve," said Miss Mary.

"She hasn't a particle of style," said Miss Flora.

"Of course not; how should she? She has not had our advantages."

"I heard that she was a splendid-looking girl," said Miss Grosgrain.

"From whom?"

"Fred Rogers."

"Pooh! Fred Rogers!"

"Mamma, we've had such a time," cried all four, when they reached home. "Such airs as that girl puts on. And somehow contrived to make us feel flat, though she is a nobody. Mrs. Grey is altogether too Quixotic. It is very annoying to have to humor her whims. What in the world did she want of another daughter, when she has a dozen or so of her own?"

"But they are all married, and live at a distance, and she was getting old, and probably needed a companion to wait upon her, mend her lace, do her clear-starching, draw her checks, do her shopping, go to market, and all that sort of thing," said Mrs. Grosgrain. "She has put her right in Maud's room. Of all things how strange! And has given away all Maud's beautiful clothes! Why, if I should lose either of you I should regard your garments as the most sacred things in the world; no mortal should ever touch them. But some people have so little feeling."

"It isn't quite fair to say that Mrs. Grey has little feeling," said Miss Grosgrain, "for when they were screwing down the lid of Maud's coffin she fainted away. She's queer; that's the word to describe her—queer."

"Well, yes, that is the word," said Mrs. Grosgrain. "When I called the other day, she seemed—well, it's an awful thing to say, and I hope you won't repeat it, girls, but she actually seemed—happy! Why, if one of you should die I should not have another happy moment. I should consecrate my life to grief."

In the privacy of their own room that night, Miss Grosgrain dutifully remarked to Miss Clara:

"Mamma did not 'consecrate her life to grief' after papa's death, but to spending his money."

"Oh, as to that, I think she did all he could have expected," was the reply. "She wore the deepest and the most fashionable mourning she could find; had the deepest possible black edge to her cards, and always put on a mournful expression whenever anyone called."

Miss Grosgrain smiled grimly.

"You are right as to the 'mournful expression'; she did 'put it on' with a vengeance."