"You may have the hat," she said. "Only do me the favour not to enter my room again unless I send for you. The maid is very neat, and it needs no inspection."
The woman's face turned a dark red. "I'm sorry you're mad," she said, "but there's no harm, as I can see, in tryin' on a hat."
"It is a matter of personal taste, not of right or wrong. I particularly dislike having my things touched."
"Oh, of course I won't, then; but I like nice things, and I haven't seen too many of them."
Again Betty relented. "I will leave you a good many at the end of the summer," she said. And the woman thanked her very nicely and went away.
"I am glad I was not brutal to her," thought Betty. "Democracy is a great institution in spite of its nuisances. Still, I admire Hamilton more than Jefferson."
When, that night, Mrs. Madison had a painful seizure, and Miss Trumbull was sympathetic and efficient, sacrificing every hour of her night's rest, Betty was doubly thankful that she had not been brutal. In the morning she gave her a wrap that matched the hat. Miss Trumbull tried it on at once, and revolved three times before the mirror, then strutted off with such evident delight in her stylish appearance that Betty's smile was almost sympathetic. But she dared not be more gracious, and Miss Trumbull only approached her when it was necessary.
On Thursday afternoon Betty and Sally were rowing on the lake when the latter said abruptly,—
"Have you noticed anything between Jack and Harriet?"
Betty nearly dropped her oars. "What—Jack and Harriet?"