She was exceedingly sorry, she said, and for once in her life Grace was sincere.

She _was_ anxious to attend the party, for, as she said to Edith St.Claire in confidence, she wanted to see old Peterkin in his swallow-tail and white vest, with a shirt-front as big as a platter.

There was a great deal of sarcasm and ridicule in Grace Atherton's nature, but at heart she was kind and meant to be just, and after a fashion really liked Mrs.Tracy, to whom she had been of service in various ways, helping her to fill her new position more gracefully than she could otherwise have done, and enlightening her without seeming to do so on many points which puzzled her sorely; on the whole they were good friends, and, after expressing her regret that she could not be present in the evening, Grace stood a few moments chatting familiarly and offering to send over flowers from her greenhouse, and her own maid to arrange Mrs.Tracy's hair and assist her in dressing.
Then she took her leave, and it was her carriage Mrs.Tracy was watching as it went down the avenue, when little Harold Hastings appeared around the corner of the house, and, coming up the steps, took off his cap respectfully as he said: 'Grandma sends you her compliments, and is very sorry that she has rheumatism this morning and cannot come to-night to help you.

She thinks, perhaps, you can get Mrs.Mosher.' 'Your grandmother can't come, when I depended so much upon her, and she thinks I can get Mrs.Mosher, that termagant, who would raise a mutiny in the kitchen in an hour!' Mrs.Tracy said this so sharply that a flush mounted to the handsome face of the boy, who felt as if he were in some way a culprit and being reprimanded.

'She _must_ come, if she does nothing but sit in the kitchen and keep order,' was Mrs.Tracy's next remark.
'She can't,' Harold replied; 'her foot and ankle is all swelled and aches so she almost cries.