“Which we don’t,” snapped Mrs. Butler.  “We are sure and certain to be put in the wrong before we are half-an-hour there.  However, I agree with you, Maria; we won’t be among the hurryers.  I hate to be one of those who snap at a thing.  Now, what’s the matter?  How you do startle me!”

“It’s Mrs. Gorman Stanley,” gasped Miss Peters; “she’s in red velvet, with a beaded bodice—­and—­oh, do look at her bonnet, Martha!  Positively, it’s hideous.  A straw-green, with blue forget-me-nots, and those little baby daisies dropping over her hair.  Well, well, how that woman does ape youth!”

Mrs. Butler snatched the spy-glass from her sister, and surveyed Mrs. Gorman Stanley’s holiday attire with marked disapproval.  She threw down her glasses presently with a little sniff.

“Disgusting,” she said with emphasis.  “That woman will never see fifty again, and she apes seventeen.  For my part, I think, when women reach a certain age they should not deck themselves with artificial flowers.  Flowers are for the young, not for poor worn-out, faded types of humanity.  Now you, Maria——­”

“Oh, don’t,” said Miss Maria, stepping back a few paces in alarm, and putting up her hand to her bonnet, “don’t say that wallflowers aren’t allowable, Martha; I always did think that wallflowers were so passe.  That’s why I chose them.”

“Who’s that now?” exclaimed Mrs. Butler.  “My word, Maria, get quick behind the curtain and peep!  Give me the spy-glass; I’ll look over your head.  Why, if it isn’t—­no—­yes—­it is, though—­it’s that young Captain Bertram, a most stylish young man!  He looks elegant in flannels—­quite a noble face—­I should imagine him to be the image of Julius Caesar—­there he comes—­and Bee—­Bee Meadowsweet with him.”

“Just like her name,” murmured Miss Peters; “just—­just like her name, bless her!”

The poor, withered heart of the little old maid quite swelled with love and admiration as the beautiful girl, dressed simply all in white, with roses on her cheeks, and sparkles in her eyes, walked to the scene of the coming gayeties in the company of the acknowledged hero of the town.

“Poor Matty Bell, I pity her!” said Mrs. Butler.  “Oh, it has been a sickening sight the way the mother has gone on lately, perfectly sickening; but she’ll have her come down, poor woman, and I, for one, will say, serve her right.”

“We may as well be going, Martha,” said Miss Peters.

“Well, I suppose so, since our betters have led the way.  Now, Maria, don’t drag behind, and don’t ogle me with your eyes more than you can help.  I have made up my mind to have a seat next to Mrs. Bertram at the feast, and to bring her down a peg if I can.  Now, let’s come on.”