"One day Mrs. Cheston gave me a luncheon, to which she invited a good many of the village ladies; and, after they were all gone, we two sat on the piazza and talked about them. Two or three of our guests I had not met before, and in the course of our talk Emily mentioned the name of Margaret Temple.
"'Temple?' said I. 'Which one was that? I do not recall her.'
"'You were talking to her some time,' she replied. 'I think she was telling you about the mountains.'
"'Oh, yes,' said I; 'she was pointing out those passes through which people go into the next county. She sat at the other end of the table, didn't she? She was dressed in black.'
"'Oh, no,' said Emily, 'she was not dressed in black. She never wears black. I think she wore a brown dress with some sort of light trimming.'
"'Oh, well,' said I, 'I did not notice her dress, and when I do not notice people's clothes I nearly always think they dress in black. Is she nice?'
"'She is very nice indeed,' said Emily; 'everybody thinks that.'
"'I wish I had seen more of her,' said I.
"Emily did not answer this remark, but a smile came on her face which presently grew into a little laugh. I looked at her in surprise.
"'What is there funny about Miss Temple?' I asked.