She went to her dressing-table. In a drawer there was a bottle from which she had been in the habit of taking a few drops daily to spread over one tiny gray patch that had persistently grown over one temple. She held the bottle up to the light. There was not much in it, yet she would see how far it would go. With a steady hand and without wasting one drop she quickly stained the locks most in need of disguise. There was not enough left to colour all her length of hair. Seizing a pair of scissors, she remorselessly cut away the soft gray strands and set a match to them in the fireplace, and responded calmly to her aunt's impatient summons. "Presently, aunt, presently, don't wait for me."
"Did you not sleep well?" asked Miss Gastonguay, when she finally made her appearance at the breakfast-table.
"So soundly that I did not turn on my pillow."
"You look fresh and alert," said Miss Gastonguay, complacently. "How are you, Aurelia?" and she addressed her still nervously upset guest.
"I am better," said the girl, "but I think I would like to go home, please."
"Very well, I'll drive you down as soon as we finish breakfast. Prosperity, order the carriage, the victoria—"
"Aunt," said Chelda, "this coffee is delicious. Will you please give me another cup?"
"Certainly. I wonder what Derrice Mercer is doing while her husband is away?"
"Rebecca told me that she is staying at the parsonage," replied her niece.
"Mrs. Negus has enough to do without taking care of her. Suppose we have her up here, Chelda?"