"Dear me!" exclaimed Miss Rogers, "I never heard that there were three daughters in this family." She could see, even in that dim light, the pink flush steal quickly over the wan, white face.
"I am a daughter by my father's first marriage," she answered, quietly. "My step-mother and her daughters seldom mention me to any one."
There was no suspicion of malice in her tone, only sadness; and without another word, save a gentle good-night, she glided from the room.
It was Sally, bright, jolly Sally, who awakened Miss Rogers the next morning. Louisa insisted upon helping her to dress, while Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton tapped at the door, and eagerly inquired if she had rested well.
She was given the seat of honor at the breakfast-table, and a huge bouquet of hot-house roses lay at her plate.
Sally had inquired the night before as to her favorite viands, and they were soon placed before her deliciously prepared.
Louisa brought a dainty hassock for her feet, and Mrs. Pendleton a silken scarf, to protect her from the slightest draught from the open windows.
"You treat me as though I were a queen," said Miss Rogers, smiling through her tears.
She could scarcely eat her breakfast, Sally and Louisa hung about her chair so attentively, ready to anticipate her slightest wish. But looking around, she missed the sweet, wistful face that she had seen in her room the night before.
"Are all the family assembled here?" she inquired, wondering if it had not been a dream she had had of a sweet white face and a pair of sad gray eyes.