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Updated: June 20, 2025
Warden at last approaching with her four daughters and no one else. She greeted them politely and warmly; but Mrs. Weatherstone did more. Holding them all in a little group beside her, she introduced her noble visitors to them; imparted the further information that their brother was fiance to Miss Bell. "I don't see him," she said, looking about. "He will come later, of course. Ah, Miss Madeline!
It appears that Madam Weatherstone is a connection of theirs one of the F. F. V's, I guess, and they think she's something wonderful. And to have you working there! well, you can just see how they'd feel; and I don't blame them. It's no use arguing with you but I should think you'd have enough of this disgraceful foolishness by this time and come home!"
"Why don't you go into it at once?" urged Mrs. Weatherstone. "I want to establish the day service first," said Diantha. "It is a pretty big business I find, and I do get tired sometimes. I can't afford to slip up, you know. I mean to take it up next fall, though." "All right. And look here; see that you begin in first rate shape. I've got some ideas of my own about those food containers."
She took care, however, to carry some letters to Madam Weatherstone, and meekly announced her discharge; also, by some coincidence, she met Mr. Matthew in the hall upstairs, and weepingly confided her grievance to him, meeting immediate consolation, both sentimental and practical.
"I'll just say I came up to see what the screaming's about, that's all. You open the door if you don't want anybody to know I'm here! I won't hurt you any I just want to talk to you a minute." Madam Weatherstone was speechless with horror, her daughter-in-law listened with set lips.
A faint blush crept slowly up the face of Diantha, but her expression was unchanged. Whoso had met and managed a roomful of merciless children can easily face a woman's club. "We have with us on this occasion one, as we my say, our equal in birth and breeding," Madam Weatherstone here looked painfully shocked as also did the Boston Marrow; possibly Mrs.
"We are dear friends still; and so I feel that I know you better than you think. You have done beautiful work for Mrs. Porne; now I want you to do to it for me. I need you." "Won't you sit down?" said Diantha. "You, too," said Mrs. Weatherstone. "Now I want you to come to me right away. You have done me so much good already.
Weatherstone, "but can't we look over those plans again; there's something I wanted to suggest." And they went up to the big room on the third floor. In her shop and at her work Isabel Porne was a different woman. She was eager and yet calm; full of ideas and ideals, yet with a practical knowledge of details that made her houses dear to the souls of women.
Weatherstone kissed her friend warmly, and passed like a heavy shadow along the rose-bordered path. In the tonneau sat a massive old lady in sober silks, with a set impassive countenance, severely correct in every feature, and young Mat Weatherstone, sulky because he had to ride with his grandmother now and then. He was not a nice young man.
"I liked her," she wrote. "She's a nice woman even if she is rich." There was a knock at her door. "Lady to see you, Miss." "I cannot see anyone," said Diantha; "you must excuse me." "Beg pardon, Miss, but it's not a reporter; it's ." The landlady stretched her lean neck around the door edge and whispered hoarsely, "It's young Mrs. Weatherstone!" Diantha rose to her feet, a little bewildered.
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