The Conly girls, too, were growing fast, giving promise of fair, graceful womanhood, Isadore particularly of great beauty; which her mother fondly hoped would be the means of securing her a wealthy husband; for Mrs. Conly’s affections were wholly set upon the things of this life; by her and her sister Enna, wealth and beauty were esteemed the highest good, and their children were trained in accordance with that view; the moral atmosphere of the house being very different from that of Ion, where the lives and conversation of the parents were such as to leave no doubt in the minds of their children, that to them the things of time and sense were as nothing in comparison with those of eternity.

Enna followed her daughter into the dressing-room they used in common.

“Wear the very best you have, Molly,” she said, “I don’t want you to be looked down upon as a poor relation, or to have it said that the Conlys dress better than my children.”

“I’m sure they don’t,” said Molly, ringing for the maid, “though they’d like to if they could, and are always jealous when grandpa makes me a present.”

“Of course they are, and they manage to get more than their fair share, too,” acquiesced the mother in a tone of irritation; “but do you see to it that they don’t get ahead of you at Ion; remember Elsie is as rich as a Jew, and likes the credit of being generous, so keep on the right side of her, if you want handsome presents.”

“I’m sure she is generous and doesn’t give only for the credit of it,” said Molly.

“Don’t give me any impudence,” returned her mother sharply.  “Rachel,” to the maid who just then came in in answer to the bell, “dress Miss Molly first, and be quick about it.”

Enna superintended the business in person, and in a way that sorely tried the temper and nerves of both Molly and the maid; the child’s sash must be tied and retied, her hat bent this way and that, her collar and brooch changed again and again, till she was ready to cry with impatience; and when at last she started for the door, she was called back, and Rachel ordered to change her slippers for gaiter boots.

“I don’t want to wear them!” cried Molly, fairly stamping with impatience.  “The heels are so high and narrow, I can’t bear them.”

“They’re just the style and make your foot look beautiful,” said her mother, “sit down and let Rachel put them on you.”

“Grandpa says they’re dangerous, and so does Dr. Barton, too,” grumbled Molly.

“Put them on her, Rachel,” commanded Enna.  “Molly, behave yourself, or you’ll stay at home.”

The child submitted rather sullenly, muttering that she would be late.

Rachel was fastening the second boot, when Isadore and Virginia were heard running down the stairs, calling out that the carriage was at the door.

“There!  I knew you’d make me too late!” cried Molly.  “Oh, Rachel, do hurry!”