They walked down to Elm place. This was the old end of the street in a row of small detached houses with gardens running back to the next street and a space of six feet or so between. The Trenham’s was in very nice tidy order, the windows with neat white drapery.
“Our next door neighbors are considered quite a detriment,” explained Edith Trenham. “The woman professes to be a clairvoyant, and there are five children, two very unruly boys. I do hope they will go away in the spring.”
Edith ushered her guests into the pretty parlor where the cheerful fire seemed to radiate pleasure as well as heat. In a small wheeling chair sat the invalid, a pale little girl of fifteen, but who looked years younger. She held out her hand to Lilian.
“Oh, what pleasure it is to see you,” she cried. “Your color is radiant—like a June rose, isn’t it mamma? and such beautiful hair. Edith is always well but she hasn’t much color. Oh, if you could have seen our roses in June! They were bewildering. Don’t you feel that gorgeous things sometimes are? Then the next door boys came over and stole the roses and broke the bushes. I cried nearly all day. It seemed as if I had been pulled to pieces. The mother said she was sorry but that wouldn’t put the roses back.”
“Claire you will find is quite a spoiled child,” Edith said, stooping to kiss her. She was very pale and the dark hair framing in the little face gave her an almost uncanny look.
When they had laid aside their wraps Claire took possession of Lilian again, and wanted to know about the girls in the Seminary.
“Why, Claire, they are most all young ladies,” said Edith.
“Well—are there many pretty ones? and what do they do beside study? They would get tired studying all the time.”
Lilian explained that they visited in each others rooms and had calisthenics and danced, and went through some beautiful evolutions with Indian clubs—
“Oh, how funny!” Claire interrupted. “Do they make believe they are Indians?”