“Anna must go, then,” persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full well how useless it would be to press Carrie farther.  “Anna must go—­where is she?  Call her, ’Lena.”

But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk which had been planned the night previous, and when ’Lena returned with the intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great distress exclaimed, “Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think—­and Mr. Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to entertain her.  What shall I do!  I can’t go in looking so yellow and jaded as I now do!”

’Lena’s first thought was to bring her aunt’s powderball, as the surest way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act would be deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go herself to the parlor.

“You!  What could you say to her?” returned Mrs. Livingstone, to whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.

“I can at least answer her questions,” returned ’Lena and after a moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how ’Lena, in her plain gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the fashionable Mrs. Graham.

“But then,” thought she, “she has so little sensibility, I don’t s’pose she cares! and why should she?  Mrs. Graham will of course look upon her as only a little above a servant”—­and with this complimentary reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her dressing-room, while ’Lena, with a beating heart and slightly heightened color, repaired to the parlor.

On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment ’Lena’s eye fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a smile at the idea of being afraid of her.  She was a short, dumpy, florid looking woman, showily, and as ’Lena thought, overdressed for morning, as her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed and sparkled with every movement.  Her forehead was very low, and marked by a scowl of discontent which was habitual, for with everything to make her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from being so.  Exceedingly nervous and fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker side, and when her husband and son, who were of exactly opposite temperaments, strove to laugh her into good spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as she usually reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy for her.

Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone’s apparent lack of courtesy in not hastening to receive her, and when ’Lena’s light step was heard in the hall, she turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why she had not come sooner.  Durward, who was present immediately introduced his mother, at the same time admiring the extreme dignity of ’Lena’s manner as she received the lady’s greeting, apologizing for her aunt’s non-appearance, saying “she was suffering from a severe headache, and begged to be excused for an hour or so.”