am very much distressed about it all," murmured Mrs. Baxter.She was a small, delicate-looking old lady, very true to type indeed, with the silvery hair of thedevout widow crowned with an exquisite lace cap, in a filmy black dress, with a complexion ofprecious china, kind shortsighted blue eyes, and white blue-veined hands busy now uponneedlework. She bore about with her always an atmosphere of piety, humble, tender, and sincere, but as persistent as the gentle sandalwood aroma which breathed from her dress. Her theory of theuniverse, as the girl who watched her now was beginning to find out, was impregnable andunapproachable. Events which conflicted with it were either not events, or they were so exceptionalas to be negligible. If she were hard pressed she emitted a pathetic peevishness that rendered furtherargument impossible.The room in which she sat reflected perfectly her personality. In spite of the early Victorian date ofthe furniture, there was in its arrangement and selection a taste so exquisite as to deprive it of even asuspicion of Philistinism. Somehow the rosewood table on which the September morning sun fellwith serene beauty did not conflict as it ought to have done with the Tudor paneling of the room. Atapestry screen veiled the door into the hall, and soft curtains of velvety gold hung on either side ofthe tall, modern windows leading to the garden. For the rest, the furniture was charming andsuitable-low chairs, a tapestry couch, a multitude of little leather-covered books on every table, andtwo low carved bookshelves on either side of the door filled with poetry and devotion.The girl who sat upright with her hands on her lap was of another type altogether-of that type ofwhich it is impossible to predicate anything except that it makes itself felt in every company. Anyrespectable astrologer would have had no difficulty in assigning her birth to the sign of the Scorpion.In outward appearance she was not remarkable, though extremely pleasing, and it was a pleasingnessthat grew upon acquaintance. Her beauty, such as it was, was based upon a good foundation: uponregular features, a slightly cleft rounded chin, a quantity of dark coiled hair, and large, steady, serenebrown eyes. Her hands were not small, but beautifully shaped; her figure slender, well made, andalways at its ease in any attitude. In fact, she had an air of repose, strength, and all-roundcompetence; and, contrasted with the other, she resembled a well-bred sheep-dog eyeing an Angoracat.They were talking now about Laurie Baxter."Dear Laurie is so impetuous and sensitive," murmured his mother, drawing her needle softlythrough the silk, and then patting her material, "and it is all terribly sad."This was undeniable, and Maggie said nothing, though her lips opened as if for speech. Then sheclosed them again, and sat watching the twinkling fire of logs upon the hearth. Then once more Mrs.Baxter took up the tale.