"You know, dear Mrs. Wishart, I go just where you choose to take me," said the girl, on whose cheeks an exquisite rose tint rivalled the Lady Sutherland geranium blossoms. Mrs. Wishart noticed it, and eyed the girl as she was engrossed with her flowers, examining, smelling, and smiling at them. It was pleasure that raised that delicious bloom in her cheeks, she decided; was it anything more than pleasure? What a fair creature! thought her hostess; and yet, fair as she is, what possible chance for her in a good family? A young man may be taken with beauty, but not his relations; and they would object to a girl who is nobody and has nothing. Well, there is a chance for her, and she shall have the chance.
"Lois, what will you wear to this luncheon party?"
"You know all my dresses, Mrs. Wishart. I suppose my black silk would be right."
"No, it would not be right at all. You are too young to wear black silk to a luncheon party. And your white dress is not the thing either."
"I have nothing else that would do. You must let me be old, in a black silk."
"I will not let you be anything of the kind. I will get you a dress."
"No, Mrs. Wishart; I cannot pay for it."
"I will pay for it."
"I cannot let you do that. You have done enough for me already. Mrs. Wishart, it is no matter. People will just think I cannot afford anything better, and that is the very truth."
"No, Lois; they will think you do not know any better."