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Meantime the little “Copy-Cat” had never been so happy. She began to improve in her looks also. Her grandmother Wheeler noticed it first, and spoke of it to Grandmother Stark. “That child may not be so plain, after all,” said she. “I looked at her this morning when she started for school, and I thought for the first time that there was a little resemblance to the Wheelers.”

Grandmother Stark sniffed, but she looked gratified. “I have been noticing it for some time,” said she, “but as for looking like the Wheelers, I thought this morning for a minute that I actually saw my poor dear husband looking at me out of that blessed child’s eyes.”

Grandmother Wheeler smiled her little, aggravating, curved, pink smile.

But even Mrs. Diantha began to notice the change for the better in Amelia. She, however, attributed it to an increase of appetite and a system of deep breathing which she had herself taken up and enjoined Amelia to follow. Amelia was following Lily Jennings instead, but that her mother did not know. Still, she was gratified to see Amelia’s little sallow cheeks taking on pretty curves and a soft bloom, and she was more inclined to listen when Grandmother Wheeler ventured to approach the subject of Amelia’s attire.

“Amelia would not be so bad-looking if she were better dressed, Diantha,” said she.

Diantha lifted her chin, but she paid heed. “Why, does not Amelia dress perfectly well, mother?” she inquired.

“She dresses well enough, but she needs more ribbons and ruffles.”

“I do not approve of so many ribbons and ruffles,” said Mrs. Diantha. “Amelia has perfectly neat, fresh black or brown ribbons for her hair, and ruffles are not sanitary.”

“Ruffles are pretty,” said Grandmother Wheeler, “and blue and pink are pretty colors. Now, that Jennings girl looks like a little picture.”

But that last speech of Grandmother Wheeler’s undid all the previous good. Mrs. Diantha had an unacknowledged — even to herself — disapproval of Mrs. Jennings which dated far back in the past, for a reason which was quite unworthy of her and of her strong mind. When she and Lily’s mother had been girls, she had seen Mrs. Jennings look like a picture, and had been perfectly well aware that she herself fell far short of an artist’s ideal. Perhaps if Mrs. Stark had believed in ruffles and ribbons, her daughter might have had a different mind when Grandmother Wheeler had finished her little speech.

As it was, Mrs. Diantha surveyed her small, pretty mother-in-law with dignified serenity, which savored only delicately of a snub. “I do not myself approve of the way in which Mrs. Jennings dresses her daughter,” said she, “and I do not consider that the child presents to a practical observer as good an appearance as my Amelia.”

Grandmother Wheeler had a temper. It was a childish temper and soon over — still, a temper. “Lord,” said she, “if you mean to say that you think your poor little snipe of a daughter, dressed like a little maid-of-all-work, can compare with that lovely little Lily Jennings, who is dressed like a doll! –“

“I do not wish that my daughter should be dressed like a doll,” said Mrs. Diantha, coolly.

“Well, she certainly isn’t,” said Grandmother Wheeler. “Nobody would ever take her for a doll as far as looks or dress are concerned. She may be GOOD enough. I don’t deny that Amelia is a good little girl, but her looks could be improved on.”

“Looks matter very little,” said Mrs. Diantha.

“They matter very much,” said Grandmother Wheeler, pugnaciously, her blue eyes taking on a peculiar opaque glint, as always when she lost her temper, “very much indeed. But looks can’t be helped. If poor little Amelia wasn’t born with pretty looks, she wasn’t. But she wasn’t born with such ugly clothes. She might be better dressed.”

“I dress my daughter as I consider best,” said Mrs. Diantha. Then she left the room.