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So Daisy sat in the comfortable living-room of the Evans home and waited contentedly for her hostess to join her again. The day was beautiful; the prospect of a walk was alluring. It did not matter in the least to Daisy that her spring suit was not this year’s, and that her hat was inexpensive; in her joyous frame of mind New York was a wonderful place to be visiting, even if one’s clothing did indicate one’s country origin. The girl was perfectly happy.

One glance at Florence’s face, however, as she entered the room, told Daisy that her hostess did not share her exultant mood. In fact, she was literally pouting.

“Mother and Edith make me tired!” she exclaimed, “with their everlasting social work! You can’t have a day to yourself, or plan an innocent little walk without their dragging charity into it!”

“What’s the matter now, Flos?” asked Daisy, rather amused at her friend’s petulance.

“Why, instead of going for our nice stroll in the Park, we’ve got to go hunt up some poor female on mother’s church visiting list! She’s sick or something—”