hospitality of her country place in the Kittatinnies, which was only an hour’s ride from New York, and where the mountain air was cool and invigorating. “I have been so unhappy, Miss Fisher,” she said, “about the accident, and you’ve let me do nothing.”
Margaret compromised by agreeing to stay at a farm-house near Mrs. Van Dusen’s place and to use that good lady’s carriage. But she insisted on paying for her board. Mrs. Van Dusen was only too glad that she had been able to prevail over Margaret’s independent spirit to that extent. Her visits to the hospital had made her acquainted with the girl’s fine nature, both in the courage she had evinced in pain, and in the devotion she showed to Helène. Mrs. Van Dusen could not help but look up to so grand and yet so finely democratic a character.
In the younger girl, with the gentle, well-bred bearing which, as she readily saw, but veiled the