Mrs. Pendleton had been busy getting the handsome guest-chamber ready for their wealthy kinswoman. She entered just in time to overhear Sally's last remark.
"Miss Rogers shall have a larger, handsomer boudoir than yours, Sally," remarked her mother. "The entire suite of rooms on this floor is at her disposal, if she will only allow us to persuade her to remain with us. My dear daughters, you must add your entreaties on this point to your father's and mine."
"How can I ever repay you for your deep interest in a lone body like me?" murmured Miss Rogers.
The eyes of the girls and those of their mother met; but they did not dare express in words the thought that had leaped simultaneously into their minds at her words.
"You have had no one to look after your wardrobe, dear Aunt Rogers," said Mrs. Pendleton; "so do, I beseech you, accept some of my gowns until you desire to lay them aside for fresher ones."
"I am bewildered by so much kindness," faltered Miss Rogers. And she was more bewildered still at the array of silks and satins and costly laces with which the three ladies deluged her.
The very finest rooms in the house were given her. Miss Sally made her a strong punch with her own hands, "just the way she said she liked it," and Louisa bathed her face in fragrant cologne, and tried on a lace night-cap with a great deal of fuss.
Some one came in to turn down the night-lamp a little later on—a quiet, slender figure in a dark-brown gown. It was not Mrs. Pendleton, nor was it either of her daughters.
"Who are you?" asked Miss Rogers, perceiving at a glance that she was evidently no servant of the household. A sweet, pale, wan face was turned toward her.
"I an Patience Pendleton," replied a still sweeter voice.