wise air. "Besides, I beg to differ from Miss Miner, on one point—I venture to say that I don't dislike your slang, if it's slang at all. It's expressive, of its kind."
"At last!" cried Fanny, with a laugh. "I get some praise—faint, but perceptible."
"Faint praise isn't supposed to be complimentary," observed Lawrence, laughing too.
"That's true," answered Fanny. "It's just the opposite—the thing with a d—. I won't say it on account of Cordelia. She'd all frizzle up with horror if I said it—wouldn't you, dear? There'd positively be nothing left of you—nothing but a dear little withered rose-leaf with a dewdrop in the middle, representing your tears for my sins!"
"I'm afraid so," answered Cordelia, with a little accentuation of her tired smile.
It was not a disagreeable smile in itself, except that it was perpetual and was the expression of patiently and cheerfully borne adversity, rather than of any satisfaction with things in general. For the lives of the three Miss Miners had not been happy. Sometimes Fanny felt a
