The old lady turned and regarded her granddaughter in
astonishment.
"Want the comb?" inquired Rhodora, having finished with it herself.
Rhodora went over to the washstand, and washed and splashed, and used
one of the towels and threw it back upon the rack so that it overhung
all the other fresh towels. Grandmother used one end of Rhodora's towel,
and carefully folded and put it in place, looking regretfully at its
rumpled condition. She took a clean pocket-handkerchief out of her bag.
Rhodora caught sight of it.
"Oh, Grandmother, have you got a spare handkerchief?" she cried. "I've
lost mine, I'm afraid."
Grandmother handed her the little square of fine linen, exquisitely
embroidered with her own monogram, and took another and plainer one from
her bag.
"Try not to lose that one, Granddaughter," she said, in her gentle way.
Rhodora pushed it inside her sleeve. "Oh, I seldom lose two in one day,"
she assured the handkerchief's owner.
I fear it was rather a dull afternoon for Rhodora. The Gay Lady took
Grandmother away after luncheon into the quiet, green-hung library, and
tucked her up on the couch, and covered her with a little silk quilt
from her own room, and went away and played softly upon the piano in the
distance until the old lady fell asleep.
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