A Daughter of To-Day | Page 2

anything hi another person's house, but she could
not help looking either. She longed to get up and read the names of the
books behind the glass doors of the tall bookcase at the other end of the
room, for the sake of the little quiver of respectful admiration she knew
they would give her; but she did not dare to do that. Her eyes went
from the bookcase to the photogravure of Dore's "Entry into

Jerusalem," under which three Japanese dolls were arranged with
charming effect. "The Reading Magdalen" caught them next, a colored
photograph, and then a Magdalen of more obscure origin in much
blackened oils and a very deep frame; then still another Magdalen,
more modern, in monochrome. In fact, the room was full of Magdalens,
and on an easel in the corner stood a Mater Dolorosa, lifting up her
streaming eyes. Granting the capacity to take them seriously, they
might have depressed some people, but they elevated Miss Kimpsey.
She was equally elevated by the imitation willow pattern plates over
the door, and the painted yellow daffodils on the panels, and the
orange-colored Revue des Deux Mondes on the corner of the table, and
the absence of all bows or draperies from the furniture. Miss Kimpsey's
own parlor was excrescent with bows and draperies. "She is above
them," thought Miss Kimpsey, with a little pang. The room was so dark
that she could not see how old the Revue was; she did not know either
that it was always there, that unexceptionable Parisian periodical, with
Dante in the original and red leather, Academy Notes, and the
Nineteenth Century, all helping to furnish Mrs. Leslie Bell's
drawing-room in a manner in accordance with her tastes; but if she had,
Miss Kimpsey would have been equally impressed. It took intellect
even to select these things. The other books, Miss Kimpsey noticed by
the numbers labelled on their backs, were mostly from the circulating
library--"David Grieve," "Cometh up as a Flower," "The Earthly
Paradise," Ruskin's "Stones of Venice," Marie Corelli's "Romance of
Two Worlds." The mantelpiece was arranged in geometrical disorder,
but it had a gilt clock under a glass shade precisely in the middle. When
the gilt clock indicated, in a mincing way, that Miss Kimpsey had been
kept waiting fifteen minutes, Mrs. Bell came in. She had fastened her
last button and assumed the expression appropriate to Miss Kimpsey at
the foot of the stair. She was a tall, thin woman, with no color and
rather narrow brown eyes much wrinkled round about, and a forehead
that loomed at you, and grayish hair twisted high into a knot behind--a
knot from which a wispy end almost invariably escaped. When she
smiled her mouth curved downward, showing a number of large even
white teeth, and made deep lines which suggested various things,
according to the nature of the smile, on either side of her face. As a rule

one might take them to mean a rather deprecating acceptance of life as
it stands--they seemed intended for that--and then Mrs. Bell would
express an enthusiasm and contradict them. As she came through the
door under the "Entry into Jerusalem," saying that she really must
apologize, she was sure it was unpardonable keeping Miss Kimpsey
waiting like this, the lines expressed an intention of being as agreeable
as possible without committing herself to return Miss Kimpsey's visit.
"Why, no, Mrs. Bell," Miss Kimpsey said earnestly, with a protesting
buff-and-gray smile, "I didn't mind waiting a particle--honestly I didn't.
Besides, I presume it's early for a call; but I thought I'd drop in on my
way from school." Miss Kimpsey was determined that Mrs. Bell should
have every excuse that charity could invent for her. She sat down again,
and agreed with Mrs. Bell that they were having lovely weather,
especially when they remembered what a disagreeable fall it had been
last year; certainly this October had been just about perfect. The ladies
used these superlatives in the tone of mild defiance that almost any
statement of fact has upon feminine lips in America. It did not seem to
matter that their observations were entirely in union.
"I thought I'd run in--" said Miss Kimpsey, screwing herself up by the
arm of her chair.
"Yes?"
"And speak to you about a thing I've been thinking a good deal of, Mrs.
Bell, this last day or two. It's about Elfrida."
Mrs. Bell's expression became judicial. If this was a complaint--and she
was not accustomed to complaints of Elfrida--she would be careful how
she took it.
"I hope--" she began.
"Oh, you needn't worry, Mrs. Bell. It's nothing about her conduct, and
it's nothing about her school work."
"Well, that's a relief," said Mrs. Bell, as if she had expected it would be.

"But I know