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Rh Florimel was right. Miss Aldine, quite as blowsy in her mourning as she had been in her pink wrapper, arose to meet Jane as she entered, followed close by Florimel.

“How are you, my dears?” she said. “I don’t suppose you remember me.”

“Surely we do,” said Jane, putting out her hand with a sudden cordiality. She saw that Mrs. Mivle looked a great deal older, and sad and worn, and, Jane-like, was moved to welcome her. “Surely we remember you, Mrs. Mivle. You were very nice to me when I was so silly as to bother you.”

“No trouble at all,” said Mrs. Mivle, tears springing to her eyes. “You were an awfully pretty pair to drop into a body’s room so unexpected. It does a body good to see girls like you. And now you don’t call me Miss Aldine, but you give me my sainted Petey’s name. I suppose you saw by the papers my loss?”

“No, we haven’t seen,” said Jane, feeling her way. “I noticed you were in mourning. It isn’t—you don’t mean”

“Yes, I do!” sobbed Mrs. Mivle. “My blessed Petey took sick, and before we knew he was more’n kind of off his feed, you might say, he was past all hope—appendicitis! Ain’t it