Mrs. Bell had lately tried to connect herself with the outside world by adopting a few of its harmless and inexpensive little fashions.  She had a day at home.  This universal mode of receiving one’s friends was not generally adopted in Northbury, but Mrs. Bell, who had heard of it through the medium of a weekly fashion paper which a distant cousin in London was kind enough to supply her with, thought it would be both distinguished and economical to adopt the system of only receiving her friends on Thursdays.

She was laughed at a good deal, and considered rather upstartish for doing so; but nevertheless, on Thursdays the friends came, being sure of a good dish of gossip as well as sugared and creamed tea and home-made cakes in abundance.

On Thursdays Mrs. Bell put on every ring and ornament she possessed.  Her one and only dark red tabinet—­this was her wedding-gown let out and dyed—­adorned her stout figure, and then she sat in her drawing-room, and awaited her company.  Her daughters always sat with her, and they, too, on these occasions, made the utmost of their poor wardrobes.

Mrs. Bell was in particularly good spirits on this special afternoon, for rumors had as yet cast no shadows before, and the preceding evening she had been lucky enough to meet Mabel Bertram, and had almost extracted a promise from that young lady that she would come to her reception in the company of her gallant brother.

“Thank you, for Matty’s sake,” Mrs. Bell had responded to Mabel.  “Matty will be delighted to see you both,—­delighted.”

Mabel had gone home a little bewildered and a little amused, and Mrs. Bell felt herself altogether in high feather.

When Mrs. Butler and Miss Peters appeared on the scene there had already arrived a fair sprinkling of guests.  Mrs. Gorman Stanley who did most of her eating at her friends’ houses, was enjoying her second cup of tea, and asking Alice for the third time to pass her the sponge-cakes.  Mrs. Morris, considerably wrapped up on account of her bronchitis, was shivering by an open window, and Mrs. Jenkins and the two Misses Jenkins, and Mr. Jones the curate, were also in the room.

The eldest Miss Jenkins had managed, for the first time, to establish herself in the vicinity of Mr. Jones, when the maid—­no one kept two maids at Northbury—­threw open the door.

“Mrs. Butler, ma’am, and Miss Peters, ma’am.”

Whereupon the two ladies, portentous with their great news, came in.

As they walked down the street Mrs. Butler had warned her sister not to leak out a word.

“I’ll tell,” she said, with simple gravity which impressed.

“But it was my news,” said poor Miss Peters.

“I prefer to tell,” said Mrs. Butler.

And Miss Peters was demolished.

Accordingly when they entered the room Mrs. Butler made straight for the sofa beside Mrs. Bell.  She took her friend’s hand, looked at her solemnly, and said: