Hardly had I made myself comfortable in my retreat when I heard voices in the arbor below.  It was Mrs. Fluffy and her sister, Mrs. J.K.B.  Stunner.  I knew them in a moment, though they were not visible.  Panting for breath, Mrs. F. invited the other to take a seat:  she was very stout and soon tired.  The sisters were examples of opposite schools of art.  Mrs. Stunner, dark, hard and sharp-faced, was a widow with all her daughters “well settled” in life—­i.e., married to wealthy husbands—­and was considered “fortunate” among the matrons.  Mrs. Fluffy was soft and florid, without an angular point, physically or mentally:  much younger and prettier than her sister, she was always spoken of as “poor Mrs. Fluffy,” though she was not badly off that I could see.  She had two daughters “out” this season, and a third casting longing looks in the same direction.

Thinking they would move on shortly, as the arbor was only a halting-place for people walking to the summit, I lay snug and waited.  Presently the widow, among other commonplaces, began to discuss the young ladies at The Brook.

“By the by, Sarah,” she said, “I don’t see that your girls are doing much this season:  I really must say you do not seem to manage well at all.  You may be playing a very deep game, but I can discover no signs of it, and there is little that escapes me in such matters.”

“Oh, Jane!” panted Mrs. F., “if you only knew the trouble of having two daughters ‘out’ at once!”

“As if I didn’t know!” snuffed Mrs. Stunner.

“True, true,” replied Sarah in a conciliatory tone.  “But you seemed to have so little anxiety.”

“Seemed!” echoed the Stunner contemptuously.  “Of course I seemed, and the difficulty it required to seem!  Do you think I was so witless as to let my manoeuvres be seen?  I wonder at you, Sarah!”

“Well, well,” said the other, yielding the point, “I know you have a talent for such things, and can manage well, but I don’t know what to do.”

“I—­should—­think—­you—­did—­not,” replied her sister, tapping the ground slowly with her foot.

“What have I done that you should speak like that, Jane?” asked the meek Sarah, bridling up.

“Tell me,” answered Jane after an ominous silence that was quite thrilling, “where is Eva at this moment?”

“Oh,”, replied Sarah with a sigh of relief, “she is walking with Mr. Hardcash.  You introduced him at the last ball.”

“I introduced him to dance with, not to walk with,” said Jane severely.

“Goodness me, sister! what’s the difference?”

“She asks me ‘What’s the difference?’ Are you a child?  Why, just the difference between dancing and walking.”

From the pause that followed I knew that Mrs. F. was looking with both her round eyes, intent on seeing it.  I suppose she did not succeed, as her sister continued, emphasizing each word clearly, “Mr. Hardcash has not a penny,” as if that at once explained the knotty question.