“A great many people are saying so,” continued the first.  “Do you know that they took their daughter out of the private school she had been attending and sent her to public school this year?  They must be hard up if they can’t pay school bills any more.”

“It certainly looks like it,” said the first lady.

“Possibly I had better not ask Mrs. Evans for any subscription at all.  It might embarrass her, poor thing.”  The voices trailed off and Mrs. Evans was left feeling decidedly annoyed.  She was the kind of woman who rarely discussed other people’s affairs, and likewise disliked having her own discussed by other people.  The thought that some folks might misconstrue Gladys’s entering the public school to mean that her father was about to fail in business, first amused, and then irritated her.  Nothing like that could be farther from correct, but the thought came to her that such rumors floating around might have some effect on Mr. Evans’s standing in the business world.  She began to wonder if after all it had not been a mistake to take Gladys out of Miss Russell’s school in the middle of her course.

Thinking cynical thoughts about the gossiping abilities of most people, she drove up the long driveway and entered the house.  The long hall with its wide staircase and large, splendidly furnished rooms opening on either side, struck her as being cold and gloomy.  The polished chairs and tables shone dully in the fast waning light of the December afternoon, cheerless and unfriendly looking.  The house suddenly seemed to her to be less a home than a collection of furniture.  For the moment she almost hated the wealth which made it necessary to maintain this vast and magnificent display.  The women she had played cards with that afternoon seemed shallow and artificial.  Life was decidedly uninteresting just then.  She went upstairs and took off her wraps and came down again, aimlessly.  Gladys was nowhere in sight, which made the house seem lonelier than ever, for with Gladys around there would have been somebody to talk to.  At the foot of the stairs she paused.  She could hear some one singing in a distant part of the house.  “Katy’s happy, anyway,” she said with a sigh, “if she feels like singing in that hot kitchen,” A desire for company led her out to the kitchen.  It was not Katy, however, who greeted her when she opened the door.  It was Gladys—­Gladys with a big apron on and her sleeves rolled up, just taking from the oven a pan of golden brown muffins.  The room was filled with the delicious odor of freshly baked dough.

Gladys looked up with a smile when she saw her mother in the doorway.  “How do you like the new cook?” she asked.  “Katy went home sick this afternoon and I thought I would get supper myself.”  The kitchen looked so cheerful and inviting that Mrs. Evans came in and sat down.  Gladys began mixing up potatoes for croquettes.

“Can’t I do something?” asked her mother.