Meacham’s hopes for seeing her daughters established had sunk low, but not so low that she intended admitting to a soul that she had sought outside help. Even her own daughters were to be kept in the dark, and she must therefore have a private coze with Miss Cummings as soon as she arrived. Miss Cummings’s letter said she would come at four. Mrs. Meacham told her girls she would not be arriving till evening, and she sent them off to the vicarage to visit Kate and take dinner there. Miss Cummings was a prompt visitor. At five minutes before four, she alighted from a very handsome traveling carriage with her abigail, a tall, fierce-looking dame who answered to the unflattering name of Miss Miser. Miss Cummings came tripping in, embraced her hostess as if they had been bosom bows forever, and said with no preamble, “Where are your girls, Cousin? I am dying to meet them.” Though she was top of the trees herself, Miss Cummings realized at a glance that her hostess was a deep-dyed provincial.
