And Cally felt apologetic to her poor relative to-day, a good deal ashamed before her.  Her sudden impulse had been to ask papa’s old cousin to come and stay in one of the four spare rooms at home (thus permitting Chas to come down from the Cooney attic); but she had had to put that impulse down.  The Heths had not built walls around their little island for nothing....

They were in the limousine, she and Hen, driving down to Saltman’s.  Hen said she would be delighted to come in that evening, and play bridge with Uncle Thornton.  She was a player of known merits, rather famous for successes with hare-brained no-trumpers.  And Cally, thinking what man she should ask for Hen, discovered suddenly that her thought was going much beyond a table of bridge to-night; that what she was really planning was to marry her cousin off this year.  And she found herself searching about for somebody very nice for Hen, very desirable.

“Oh, by the bye,” she said, presently—­“I was just thinking—­do you remember that corduroy suit I had last year—­striped gray, with a Russian blouse?”

Hen, it seemed, remembered this suit perfectly.  And Cally said no wonder, since she had worn it till she would be ashamed to be caught in it again.

“I was wondering,” said she, “if you could make it do for anything, Hen.  It would honestly be a favor if you’d take it off my hands.”

Henrietta swept on her a look of incredulous delight.

“Cally!...  Why, you good old bluffer!  You know perfectly well that suit’s a beauty, as good as new—­”

“No, oh, no!  Indeed, it isn’t,” said Cally, quite eagerly.  “You’ve forgotten—­it’s worn, oh, quite badly worn.  I’ll show you to-night when you come.  And then you’d have to cut it down, too....  Only you mustn’t ever wear it around me, Hen, I’m really so sick of the sight of it....”

So Hen presently said:  “There’s no use my pretending or being coy, Cally.  Oh, I’d dearly love to have it.  I’ve been wondering what on earth I’d do for a nice suit this year....  Why, it’s like an answer to prayer....”

And what had she ever done in a human world to entitle her to be bestowing last-year’s suits upon Henrietta Cooney, the busy and useful?  “She’s worth three of me,” thought Cally, “and I’ve been looking down on her all this time just because they’re poor.  I seem to be little and mean clear through....”

And suddenly she saw that memories had been gathering here; that Saltman’s hard-worked stenographer had grown intimate and dear....

Her hand closed over Hen’s, and she was speaking hurriedly: 

“Hen, do you know you’re a great old dear?  Don’t look....  I’ve never told you how good you were to me this summer, when I was so unhappy, and nobody else seemed to care....  And since I’ve been back, too, helping me more than you know, perhaps.  I didn’t appreciate it all at the time, quite, but I do now.  And I won’t forget what a good friend you’ve been to me, what an old trump....”