“Perhaps you haven’t any eggs to spare.”
Mary did not reply to the words; instead she continued to look with bewilderment at the girl on the doorstep.
“Did Miss Webster send you?” she at last inquired.
Lucy laughed.
“No, indeed,” she answered. “She didn’t even know I was coming. You see, I only 66 arrived from Arizona last night. I’ve come to live with my aunt. We didn’t seem to agree very well about breakfast this morning so I——”
“Oh!”
The explanation was pregnant with understanding.
“I just thought I’d feel more independent if I——”
A swish of skirts cut short the sentence, and in another moment all three of the Howe sisters were framed in the doorway.
Although a certain family resemblance was characteristic of them, they looked little alike. Eliza, it was true, was less angular than Mary and lacked her firmness of mouth and chin; but nevertheless the Howe stamp was upon her black hair, heavy, bushy brows, and noble cast of forehead. It was Jane’s face, touched by a humor the others could not boast, that instantly arrested Lucy’s attention. It was a fine, almost classic countenance which bespoke high thinking and a respect for its own soul. The eyes were gray and kindly, and in contrast to the undisguised dismay of her sisters, Jane’s attitude was one of unruffled composure. 67