"She does beautifully," Mrs. Morrison wrote to her husband, "and while I am not in a position to assert that angels couldn't do better, I am inclined to believe it."
"Frances, I wish we knew those girls upstairs. I meet them so often in the hall. One of them—Miss Moore, I think she is—is exceedingly pretty." Mrs. Morrison was washing the glossy leaves of the rubber plant.
"I know them," her daughter replied, as she carefully measured the long bud that was about to open. "The pretty one is Miss Sherwin," she added. "I know, because when Emma and I went up to their room with a package that had been left downstairs by mistake, Miss Moore opened the door, and I heard her say, 'Here is your dress, Lillian.'"
"I can't see how that proves anything. How did you know that the one who opened the door was Miss Moore?"
Frances thought for a moment, "I know now! The package had Miss Sherwin's name on it. Doesn't that prove it?"
"Perhaps it does, Wink, though it seems something of a puzzle," replied her mother. "At any rate, I wish I knew them. I must remember to ask Mr. Clark about them; they look lonely."
"Let's go to see them," Frances suggested.
"They were here before we came; they may not wish to know us."
"I should think they would," Frances exclaimed, so earnestly her mother laughed.
"So should I, Winkie, but we don't know. Perhaps something will happen to make us acquainted."