"What did you say he was called?" Celia inquired.
"Tillotson. He said mother would not know his name."
"Did he seem nice, Joy?"
"I don't know. He was very polite; but I thought he stared rather, and when I showed him into the drawing-room, he looked around as though he was noticing everything."
"And the furniture is so shabby!" Celia sighed, regretfully. "The carpet is almost threadbare in places."
"Oh, what does that matter?" Joy asked; laughing at her sister's serious expression.
"It matters a great deal," Celia responded, impressively.
"I don't see that it does. When our friends call, they come to see us, not our furniture."
"That's what mother says. I'm sure when she's talking to visitors she never seems to remember how dowdy the house is compared to other people's; or, if she does, it never troubles her."
"Why should it? Mother couldn't be a greater lady if she lived in a mansion," Joy declared, with a ring of proud affection in her voice.