Miss Panney’s letter to Dora Bannister contained some mild reproaches for the latter’s departure from Thorbury without notice to her oldest friend, but her scolding was not severe, and there was as much pleasant information and inquiry as the writer could think of.  Moreover, the epistle contained the suggestion that Dora should invite Miriam Haverley to come down and spend some time with her while she was at the seashore.  This suggestion none but a very old friend would be likely to make, but Miss Panney was old enough for anything, in friendship or in any other way.

“My mind was on Miriam Haverley,” the old lady wrote, “at the moment I heard that you had gone to Barport, and it struck me that a trip of the sort is exactly what that young person needs.  She is shut up in the narrowest place in which a girl can be put, with responsibilities entirely beyond her years, and which help to cramp her mind and her ideas.  She should have a total change; she should see how the world, outside of her school and her country home, lives and acts—­in fact, she needs exactly what Barport and you and Mrs. Bannister can give her.  I do not believe that you can bestow a greater benefit upon a fellow-being than to ask Miriam to pay you a visit while you are at the seaside.  Think of this, I beg of you, my dear Dora.”

This letter was read and re-read with earnest attention.  Dora was fond of Miriam in a way, and would be very glad to give her a glimpse of seaside life.  Moreover, Miriam’s companionship would be desirable; for although Miss Bannister did not expect to lack acquaintances, there would be times when she could not call upon these, and Miriam could always be called upon.

After a consultation with Mrs. Bannister, who was pleased with the idea of having some one to go about with Dora, when she did not feel like it,—­which was almost all the time,—­Dora wrote to Miriam, asking her to come and visit her during the rest of her stay at Barport.  While writing, Dora was not at all annoyed by the thought which made her stop for a few minutes and look out of the window,—­that possibly Miriam might not like to make the journey alone, and that her brother might come with her.  She did not, however, mention this contingency, but smiled as she went on writing.

Miriam, attired in her teaberry gown, came up from the Cobhurst kitchen, and walked out toward the garden.  She was not in good spirits.  She had already found that La Fleur was a woman superior to influences from any power derived from the wearing of Judith Pacewalk’s pink chintz dress.  She was convinced that at this moment that eminent cook was preparing a dinner for the benefit of the Dranes, without any thought of the tastes or desires of the mistress of the house or its master.  And yet she could find nothing to say in opposition to this; consequently, she had walked away unprotesting, and that act was so contrary to her disposition that it saddened her.  If she had supposed that a bad meal would be the result of the bland autocracy she had just encountered, she would have been better satisfied; but, as she knew the case would be quite otherwise, her spirits continued to fall.  Even the meat, that morning, had been ordered without consultation with her.