One evening, after one of these
expeditions, she left Travis on the porch and went up-stairs with a
heavy heart to write the usual daily letter. She had heard the girls
planning a musicale to be given the following night, and she had a
sore, left-out feeling, because Travis had not been included. Sitting
down by the lamp, she picked up the pen and wrote three words: "Dear,
dear father!" Then she laid down her pen and leaned wearily back in
the chair. Somehow there seemed so little to tell. Her door was open
into the hall to admit the breeze, and she heard some one coming up
the stairs. There were voices passing her door, and she recognised the
first as Hester Tyler's. She was a young artist, lately arrived, who
was a favourite with every one. "It's hardly fair, Molly," she was
saying. "People who are sure of their own social position have no need
to snub anybody. Miss Dent is certainly a lady, any one can see that,
and if her voice is as good as Miss Philura says, she ought to be
included in the programme."
"That might do for you, Hester,"--and Mary Lee recognised the voice of
her Queen Rose,--"but you are too absorbed in your art to know
anything about conventionalities. We society girls have to put up some
sort of hedge. If people of that class want to push themselves in
where they are not wanted, and Miss Philura lets them come, that's
their affair.
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