"It is not, Betty Nelson!" Grace flared.
"It certainly is. Look in the glass if you don't believe me. There—take my chamois and give it a little rub before I let in Amy and Mollie. It's only nice, clean talcum—you needn't think it's powder."
"All right—as if talcum wasn't powder, though," and Grace smiled through the traces of her recent tears.
"That's better," decided Betty, with a nod of her shapely head and a bright look from her sparkling eyes. "Yes, I'll be there in a moment," she called as there came another ring at the bell.
"Shall I bring them right in, Grace?" she called over her shoulder, as she neared the door.
"Yes—yes. I might as well—have it over with," faltered the weeping one.
"Gracious, you'd think some one was going to be hanged, or beheaded, or sent to the galleys for life or some other dreadful thing such as we read of in our ancient histories," commented Betty. "Cheer up, Grace. There may be worse to come."
"It's awfully good of you, Betty, to try and cheer me, only, if you understood—but there—let them in. They must be perishing!"
"Oh, it isn't so cold. You don't feel well,
