"Don't be afraid, mother," replied Grace. "You will like Anne as well as I do, once you get to know her. You must be careful not to frighten her at first. She is the most timid little soul I ever met."
Just then the front gate clicked and two girls strolled up the red-brick walk, their light organdie dresses peeping out from the folds of their long capes.
"Here come Nora and Jessica," cried Grace excitedly, running to the door to meet her friends.
Mrs. Harlowe smiled. In spite of Grace's sixteen years she was still her little girl.
There was another click at the gate and Mrs. Harlowe saw through the parlor window a little, dark figure, pathetically plain in its shabby coat and hat.
"Poor little soul," thought the good woman. "How I wish I could put her into one of Grace's muslins, but, of course, I couldn't think of offering to do such a thing."
"Mother," said Grace some minutes later, when the girls had laid aside their wraps and descended into the drawing room, "this is Anne Pierson, our new friend."
Anne Pierson, small and shrinking, was dressed in a queer, old-fashioned black silk that had evidently been taken up and made short for the occasion. Mrs. Harlowe's heart was touched to the quick and she bent and kissed the young girl gently.
"How do you do, my dear?" she said kindly. "I am always glad to meet Grace's friends, and you are most welcome."
Anne was too frightened almost to speak. This was the first party she had ever attended, and the beautiful room, the girls in their light, pretty dresses, the bowls of flowers and the cheery firelight nearly stupefied her.