"I'd better not take it off," she said, as Mrs. Marvin began to unfasten her coat. "Mark will be back."
"But you couldn't go out in such a storm, dear; you are going to take lunch with me."
Clearly there was nothing to do but submit, and Frances was not unwilling. Mrs. Marvin looked at her fondly; the slender little figure in the blue sailor suit quite satisfied her fastidious taste. It puzzled her, too, for such daintiness and grace seemed to her altogether incompatible with what she had heard of the child's surroundings. Her sympathies were narrowed by her sensitiveness to anything that fell below her own standard of taste. She had yet to learn that there was a broader culture than hers. No wonder she was bewildered as she listened to Frances' frank chatter.
That this young person was very much of a chatterbox could not be denied. Her father often said it would not take a Philadelphia lawyer to find out all she knew, and on this occasion she had an interested hearer.
"Emma and I think this is a lovely house," she remarked, as they went down to lunch. "I like our flat," she added loyally, "only of course there isn't so much room in it."
This, to her, made the chief difference,—more room, more things. Her own home life had always been harmonious, had expressed grace and refinement in a simpler way, indeed, but as truly as Mrs. Marvin's; and so having always had the emphasis laid upon the best things, she felt no embarrassment, but only a frank enjoyment in this beautiful house.
When lunch was over, Mrs. Marvin led the way to the library, where the wood fire burned, and the little girl smiled down from above the mantle, and a great bunch of American Beauties bent their stately heads over a tall vase. What a combination of delights! Frances hung over the flowers with such pleasure in her eyes that her hostess said: "Do you like roses? You must take those with you when you go."
Mrs. Marvin took out a portfolio of photographs she thought might be interesting, and they went over them together. She knew perfectly how to be entertaining, and Frances enjoyed it very much, but when they came to the last one she said: "Mrs. Marvin, won't you tell me now about that portrait? I like it better than any picture I ever saw."
"Why, certainly, dear; that is my mother when she was a child. It is one of my greatest treasures."
Frances felt disappointed. "Then she is not a little girl now," she said.