"Oh, how too bad!"
"That I'm Priscilla's best friend?"
"No; that you haven't brothers and sisters."
"I have a big brother, but he's in college."
"Oh!"
"Here we are! There's mother at the door."
In her delight, Priscilla was almost ready to jump from the carriage before it had fully stopped. Again Martine stared at her friend. Could this be the cool, unemotional Priscilla? The greetings of mother and daughter could have been no warmer had they been separated for years instead of months.
"There, there, Priscilla, Martine will think we have forgotten her—I should know you, my dear—" and Mrs. Danforth held out both hands to Martine, "from Priscilla's enthusiastic descriptions of you. I can see you are just what she said you were."
From that moment when Mrs. Danforth kissed her lightly on the forehead, Martine felt perfectly at home.
As Martine had approached the Danforth house, she had noticed that the house was a large, square wooden structure, painted brown. The paint, indeed, was faded in spots, and the general aspect was rather dingy.