changed into a white peignoir trimmed with white maribou. The exercises to which she referred were a series of facial contortions which she practiced each night for forty-five minutes in order to give firmness to the muscles of the face and sweetness to the expression. "Everything by nature," was her creed, and "the power of mind over matter." No flake of powder, no morsel of rouge, no cream of any sort, had ever touched her face and so her skin had that weather-beaten, tough look that marks the skin of those firm women who are above vanities.
Miss Fosdick, brushing the hair slowly (eight strokes to the minute was Mrs. Weatherby's formula) was having bitter thoughts. "Why," she asked herself, "should she want to keep young? Certainly it is not to attract men. She hates the attention of men. Maybe she wants people to remark how young she looks for sixty-five." And almost at once she reproached herself for having thoughts, so lewd, disloyal and cynical.
At the same time Mrs. Weatherby was thinking, "Now is a time when I wish Gertrude had some sense. I'd like to talk over this conversion affair, but I can't risk it."
It was one of the times when the indomitable woman was put to rout by the very simplicity of her companion. She spoke again without turning, "You haven't changed your mind?"
"No, Aunt Henrietta. I tried praying but I got no answer."
Mrs. Weatherby answered her with a snort and the pair fell back into silence. Presently Miss Fosdick, looking out of the window, saw that the motor
