dress, black satin, trimmed with an inordinate amount of passementerie, and cut in a sort of parody of a style which the Countess dimly remembered had been in vogue in Paris two or three seasons earlier. Over her fluffy, brown hair Miss Darrell wore a small, black bonnet, on which a single pink rose appeared to be decidedly uncomfortable. Miss Darrell was quite plump, and her face was jolly. She wore white cotton gloves, and she lifted her train with her left hand as she entered the room.
How do you do, Countess, were her first words. I'm sure we're glad to welcome you. How do you like Maple Valley?
It's just as nice as ever, the Countess replied.
O, nicer. There've been so many changes. Have you seen the new water-works?
Not yet.
And we're going to have a new depot.
That's splendid.
And a new High School.
What improvements!
Yes, we're going right along. There ain't a city of its size in the state that's so enterprising. I spent a week in Cedar Rapids recently—I have customers there—and you'd be surprised to see how much faster Maple Valley's getting along.
Miss Darrell was interrupted in this pleasant flow of encomiums for her native metropolis by the arrival of Mrs. Barnes and her daughter Clara. Mrs. Barnes was a tall, thin woman with a gush-
