"How horrid!" said Grace, the shy. "I never could feel that way."
"It would never do for Elizabeth to be a grand vizer, or sultan, or satrap," Nan remarked laughingly.
"Who wants to be a 'shawl-strap'? Not I!" cried Bess, gaily. "I am Queen Bess, monarch of all I survey. Katie!"—the neat little maid had just entered the room—"will you hand me the book I was reading in the other room? I'm too weak to rise. Oh, thanks!"
Grace laughed; but Nan looked a little grave as Katie disappeared again.
"Don't, honey," Nan said to her thoughtless chum. "It isn't nice. The poor girl has necessary work enough without your making up thing's for her to do. She is on her feet from morning till night. She tells me that her ankles swell dreadfully sometimes, and that is awful for a young girl like her."
"Why, Nan!" Grace cried, "how did you know?"
"Katie told me," repeated Nan.
"But—but she never told me," expostulated their hostess.
"I don't suppose you ever saw her crying, as I did, while she was setting the dinner table. It was last evening. She had been on her feet more than usual yesterday. The doctor tells her that her arches are breaking down; but she cannot afford to have arch supports made at present, because her mother needs all the money Katie can earn."
"Mercy!" gasped Bess. "Did you ever see such a girl as Nan? She already knows all the private history of that girl."