"Oh, Miss Grace, she has eyes like yours and listens most interrogatively," said Elma in the greatest alarm. The fear that Miss Grace might be offended only now assailed her.

"Intelligently, dear," corrected Miss Grace.

"I never did truly think she would come," said Elma.

"Then, dear, it was not very polite to invite her." Miss Grace could not bear that Elma should miss any point in her own gentle code of etiquette.

"In justice to little Elma, I invited myself." The full-throated tones of Miss Dudgeon's voice came to them from the door. "And what is more, I said to Saunders, 'Let me surprise Miss Grace, I do not want to disturb the music.'"

"And then of course the music stopped," said Miss Grace.

She kissed Adelaide Maud in a very friendly way.

"Oh, but it will go on again at once, if neither of you are offended," said Elma. She was much relieved.

"You must not be so afraid of offending people," said Miss Grace. "It is a great fault of yours, dear."

As Adelaide Maud bent to kiss her, Elma was struck with the justice of this criticism.

"I believe I might be as fascinating as Mabel if only I weren't afraid," she thought to herself. The reflection made her play in a minor key.

"Just let me say a few words to Miss Grace," had said Adelaide Maud. "Play on and don't mind us for a bit."

Adelaide Maud spoke to Miss Grace in an undertone. Elma thought they did it to let her feel at ease, and correspondingly played quite happily.

"I have seen Dr. Merryweather," said Adelaide Maud to Miss Grace. "He says you must go off for a change at once."

"Dr. Merryweather!"

Miss Grace turned very pale.

"Exactly. I did it on my own responsibility. He was most concerned about you. He said that what Dr. Smith had ordered you ought to carry out."

"He was always very hard on Annie," said Miss Grace, who saw only one side to such a proposal.

Adelaide Maud bent her head a trifle.

"You ought not to think of Miss Annie, at present," said she. "It isn't right. It isn't fair to her either, supposing you turn really ill, what would become of her?"

Neither noticed the lagging notes on the piano. Instead, in the earnestness of their conversation, they entirely forgot Elma.

Miss Grace shook her head.

"I can't help it," she said. "Whatever happens to me, I must stay by my bed-ridden sister. Who would look after her if I deserted her? What is my poor well-being compared to hers!"

The notes on the piano fell completely away. Elma sat with the tears raining down her face.

"Oh, Miss Grace," she said brokenly, "are you ill? Don't say you are ill."

The sky had fallen indeed, if such a thing could be true, as Miss Grace in a trouble of her own--and such a trouble--ill health--when Miss Annie required her so much.

Adelaide Maud looked greatly discouraged.

"Now, Elma," she exclaimed abruptly, "Miss Grace is only a little bit ill, and it's to keep her from getting worse that I'm talking to her. We didn't intend you to listen. Miss Annie will wonder why the piano has stopped. Be cheerful now and play a bit--something merrier than what you've been at."

She pretended not to see that Miss Grace wiped her eyes a trifle.

"I make you an offer, Miss Grace. I shall come here every day and stay and be sweet to every one. I shall take Miss Annie her flowers and her books and her work, and I shall bark away all nasty intruders like a good sheep dog. I shall keep the servants in a good temper--including Saunders who is a love, and I promise you, you will never regret it--if only you go away for a holiday--now--before you have time to be ill, because you didn't take the thing at the start!"

(Could this be Adelaide Maud!)

Elma flung herself off the music stool, and rushed to Miss Grace.

"And oh, please, please, Miss Grace, let me go with you to see that you get better. You never will unless some one makes you. You will just try to get back to Miss Annie." Thus Elma sounded the first note of that great quality she possessed which distinguished the thing other people required and made her anxious to see it given to them.

A break in Miss Grace's calm determination occurred.

"Oh that, my love, my dear little love, that would be very pleasant." She patted Elma's hand with anxious affection.

Adelaide Maud looked hopeful.

"Won't you leave it to us?" she asked, "to Dr. Smith to break it to Miss Annie, as a kind of command, and to me to break it to Mr. Leighton as an abject request? Because I believe this idea of Elma's is about as valuable as any of mine. You must have some one with you who knows how self-denying you are, Miss Grace. You ought to have Dr. Merryweather with you in fact, to keep you in order."

"My dear, how can you suggest such a thing," said Miss Grace. She was quite horrified.

"Dr. Smith," she turned to Elma, "has ordered me off to Buxton, to a nasty crowded hotel where they drink nasty waters all day long."

"They don't drink the waters in the hotel, and the hotels are very nice," corrected Miss Dudgeon.

"It will be very hot and crowded and dull," wailed Miss Grace. It was astonishing how obstinate Miss Grace could be on a point where her own welfare was concerned.

Elma clasped and unclasped her hands.

"A hotel! Oh, Miss Grace, how perfectly lovely!"

"There, you see," said Miss Dudgeon, wonderfully quick to notice where her advantage came in, "you see what a delightful time you will confer on whoever goes with you. Some of us love hotels."

Perhaps nobody ever knew what a golden picture the very suggestion opened out to Elma. Already she was in a gorgeous erection with gilt cornices and red silk curtains, like one she had seen in town. People whom she had never met were coming and going and looking at her as though they would like to speak to her. She would not know who their aunts or cousins or parents were, and she shouldn't have to be introduced. They would simply come to Miss Grace and, noticing how distinguished she looked, they would say, "May I do this or that for you," and the thing was done. She herself would be able to behave to them as she always behaved in her daydreams, very correctly and properly. She would never do the silly blundering thing which one always did when other people were well aware of the reputation one was supposed to bear. Didn't every one at home know, before she sat down to play piano for instance, that she invariably made mistakes. Jean would say, "Oh, Elma gets so rattled, you know," and immediately it seemed as though she ought to get rattled. Nobody in the hotel would know this. She saw herself playing to an immense audience without making a single mistake. Then the applause--it became necessary to remember that Miss Grace was still speaking.

Miss Grace sat with her hands folded nervously. She was quite erect in a way, but there was invariably a pathetic little droop to her head and shoulders which gave her a delicate appearance. A very costly piece of creamy lace was introduced into the bodice of her grey gown, and on it the locket which contained Miss Annie's portrait and hair rose and fell in little agitated jerks. Miss Annie wore a corresponding locket containing Miss Grace's portrait and hair, but these always lay languorously on her white throat undisturbed by such palpitation as now excited Miss Grace.

"Oh, my dear," she said to Miss Dudgeon, "you don't understand. The gaiety of the place is nothing to me. It's like being here--where my friends say to me how nice it is to have windows opening on to the high road, where so many people pass. I tell them that it isn't those who pass, it is those who come in who count. You passed for so long, my dear."

She put her hand mutely on that of Adelaide Maud.

It was true then. Miss Grace hadn't known her all these years when the Leighton girls talked about the Story Books so much, but only recently! The Dudgeons must really be coming out of their shell.

Elma's eyes grew round with conjecture.

Why was Adelaide Maud so friendly now?

"It was really Dr. Merryweather," said Adelaide Maud.

A faint flush invaded Miss Grace's pallor.

"It is most kind of Dr. Merryweather. Years ago, I am afraid we rather slighted him."

"Oh well, he keeps a very friendly eye on you, Miss Grace, and he says you are to go to Buxton."

It became the first real trouble of Miss Grace's own life, that she should have to go to Buxton. Adelaide Maud arranged it for her, otherwise the thing would never have occurred. It was she who persuaded Dr. Smith to put it this way to Miss Annie that it would be dangerous for her to have the anxiety of Miss Grace's being ill at home, and most upsetting to the household. It was better that the excursion should be looked upon as a holiday graciously granted by Miss Annie, the donor of it, than an imperative measure ordered by the doctor for the saving of Miss Grace.

Miss Grace wondered at the ready acquiescence of Miss Annie. She seemed almost pleased to let her sister go. In a rather sad way, Miss Grace began to wonder whether, after all, she might not have released herself years ago. Would Annie have minded? The progress of this malady which now asserted itself, she had quietly ignored for so long, that only a darting pain, which might attack her in the presence of Miss Annie, had compelled her to consult Dr. Smith. He was astonished at what she had suffered.

"You do not deserve to have me tell you how fortunate it is that after all we have nothing malignant to discover," he told her. "But you will become really ill, helpless occasionally, if you do not take this in hand now." Just after he had gone, Adelaide Maud called. She came to ask for money in connection with the church, but she stayed to talk over Miss Grace's symptoms. The grey shadow on Miss Grace's face had alarmed her.

"Aren't you well, Miss Grace?" she asked sympathetically. Then for the first time since Miss Annie had gone to bed, Miss Grace had given way and confessed what the trouble was to Adelaide Maud.

It became astonishing to think how rapidly things could happen in so tiny and so slow a place.

Here they were now, in a happy confidential trio, the moving inspirator that smart, garden-party person, Adelaide Maud.

The Leighton girls could not believe it. They had, with the exception of Elma, reached a hopeless condition with regard to the Story Books. The Dudgeons had so palpably shown themselves, even although graciously polite throughout, to be of so entirely different a set to the Leightons. None of the girls except Adelaide Maud had called. And after what Cuthbert had done! Elma certainly felt the difference that might occur where Miss Grace and Miss Annie were concerned. "Why haven't we a footman and an odd man?" asked Jean viciously. "Then it would be all right."

Now came the invitation for Elma to go with Miss Grace.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Leighton were greatly touched. Mr. Leighton put his hand on Elma's shoulder.

"When you can make yourself indispensable to your best friends, that is almost as great a thing as playing the Moonlight Sonata without a mistake," said he.

But both Mrs. Leighton and he refused to let Elma go. They called on Miss Grace to explain. The fact that they had left Elma in a state of despair that bordered on rebellion made them more firm.

"Elma is so young," said Mrs. Leighton, "and so highly strung and sensitive, I can't let her go with an easy mind. She has visited so seldom, and then invariably lain awake at nights with the excitement. It wouldn't be good for you, Miss Grace. I should have you both very much on my mind."

Adelaide Maud was there.

"I see your point, Mrs. Leighton," she said brightly. "But Elma knows Miss Grace so well, wouldn't it be just like going with you or Mr. Leighton."

Mr. Leighton interposed.

"It's more for the sake of Miss Grace. She must have some one regarding whom she does not require to be anxious. Elma is a dreamy little being, and might turn home-sick in an hour, or frightened if Miss Grace were a little ill--anything might occur in that way."

"But she is nearly thirteen. Some day she must be cured of home-sickness, and Miss Grace will take her maid," said Adelaide Maud. "Oh, Mr. Leighton, don't hold in your daughters too much! It's so hard on them later."

Adelaide Maud looked quite pathetic.

"It isn't so with all of them," said Mrs. Leighton. "Jean is quite different. Jean can go anywhere."

Underneath Mrs. Leighton's kind, loving ways lay a superb respect for the domineering manners of her second daughter.

"I should never be afraid of Jean's lying awake at night, or turning home-sick. She is much too sensible."

Miss Grace became impressed with the virtues of Jean.

"Then Jean might come," she proposed apologetically.

Adelaide Maud could not forgive her. After having awakened that radiant look in Elma's eyes, to weakly propose that she might take the robust Jean!

Mrs. Leighton's eyes wandered to her husband.

"Jean grows so fast. Perhaps a change would do her good," she suggested vaguely.

"I should feel much more confident of Jean," said he.

So it was arranged.

Elma never forgot it. She wept silently in her room, and accepted comfort from no one, not even her mother.

"There is one thing, Jean oughtn't to have said to mother she would go. She put that in her mind before mother went out. I knew it was all up then. Jean will always get what she wants, all her life, and I shall have to back out. Just because I can't play sonatas without mistakes they think I cannot do anything."

Elma found Betty's shoulder very comforting.

A remark of Adelaide Maud's rankled in Mr. Leighton's mind. He was not altogether happy at having to act the dragon to Elma in any case. Adelaide Maud had got him quietly by herself.

"Don't let little Elma begin giving up things to those sisters of hers too soon, Mr. Leighton. Unselfishness is all very well. But look at the helpless thing it has made of Miss Grace."

Then she relented at sight of his face.

"I'm almost as disappointed as Elma, you see," she said radiantly.

Mr. Leighton tried to put it out of his mind, but Elma, sobbing in her bedroom, had at last reached a stage where she couldn't pretend that nothing had hurt her, a stage where the feelings of other people might be reckoned not to count at all. It was an unusual condition for her to be in. She generally fought out her disappointments in secret. Her father came to her finally, and began smoothing her hair in a sad sort of way.

"You aren't looking on your own father as your worst enemy?" he asked her kindly.

Elma's sobs stopped abruptly.

"I was," she said abjectly.

It was part of the sincerity of her nature that she immediately recognized where the case against herself came in.

"I'm sorry about Jean," said Mr. Leighton. "It didn't strike me at the time that it would be such a treat to either of you, you see. And we chose the one who seemed most fitted for going with Miss Grace."

"Mabel might have gone," wailed Elma.

Mabel! Not for a moment had the claims of Mabel been mentioned. Mr. Leighton was completely puzzled.

Elma in an honourable manner felt that probably she might be giving away Mabel to an unseeing parent. Mabel wanted, oh very much, to stay at home just then.

"But of course Jean wanted to go," she said hurriedly. "more than Mabel did."

"Some day you will all have your turn," said Mr. Leighton consolingly. "I know it's very dull being at home with your parents! Isn't it?"

Elma laughed a little.

"It isn't that," she said, "but it would be lovely--in a hotel--with a maid, you know--of your own! Such fun--seeing the people. And Miss Grace wanted me."

Mr. Leighton stroked her hair.

"I liked her wanting you. I shall never forget that," said he.

"Oh!" Elma gave a little gulp of pleasure. This was worth a great deal. There was really nothing on earth like being complimented by one's father. She sidled on Mr. Leighton's knee and put her arms round his neck. He still stroked her hair.

"You must remember that it isn't only in hotels that you see life," he said, "or on battle-fields that you fight battles. It's here at home, where one apparently is only sheltered and dull. It's always easy to get on for a day or two with new, or outside friends. But it's your own people who count. Don't make it disagreeable for Jean to go with Miss Grace." His voice came in the nature of a swift command. After all, her mother and father had arranged it, and the consciousness came down on her of how she slighted those two, dearer than any, in being so rebellious.

"I won't," said Elma. Quite a determined little line settled at her quivering lips, "But I never felt so bad in my life."

"Oh well, we shall see what can be done about that," said Mr. Leighton. And it pleased him more than a battle-field of victories could have done to see Elma come into her own again.

"Do you think you could try the Moonlight Sonata now?" he asked abruptly, looking at his watch.

It was his hobby that he must keep at least one girl at the piano in the evenings.

"Not without a lot of mistakes," said Elma.

But she played better that night than she had ever done.