other kind, though it
fascinates me. He said he knows I can't change my ideas in a night but
he depends upon my good sense to decide what is right for me to do. He
asked if I thought Virginia and her mother are wicked. They have played
cards, danced, gone to theatres, all their lives. If I hope to have a
really enjoyable time in the city I must do the same. He said, too, that
I'll soon see that many of the teachings of the country churches are
antiquated and entirely too narrow for this day.

Dancing--I shuddered at the word, but I didn't tell him how I feel about
it. Aunt Maria says dancing is even worse than playing cards. Why did
he tempt me? I don't want to do wicked things, but when he mentioned
forbidden pleasures I felt, somehow, that I wanted to do what Virginia
does and have a good time with her and her friends. That would be
dreadful! What am I thinking of! Is my head turned already? Can the evil
of the world have exerted its influence upon me so soon? Of course, if I
become a great singer I'll naturally have to live a life different from
the narrow, restricted life of the farm. I must live a broader, freer
life. But for a while, at least, I'll have to be the same old Phoebe
Metz. I tried to tell Mr. Lee something like that, and he quoted,

"If you become a nun, dear,
A friar I will be;
In any cell you run, dear,
Pray look behind for me."

Are city men always free like that? Is it the way of the new world I
have entered? Before I could think of a suitable answer he said lightly,
"But before you turn nun let me buy you some flowers."

We stopped at a floral shop. Such flowers! I've never seen their equal!
I exclaimed in many O's as I paused by the window, but I felt my cheeks
flush at the idea of having him buy any of the lovely flowers for me.

"Come inside," he said. "What do you like?"

"I love them all," I told him as we stood before the array of blossoms.
"I think I like the yellow rosebuds best, though. We have some at home
on the farm but they bloom only in June."

I detected an odd smile on his lips. What was wrong? Had I committed a
breach of etiquette? Was it wrong to mention farms in a city floral
shop? But his courteous, attentive manner returned in an instant. He
watched me pin the yellow roses on my coat, smiled, and led me outside
again. I felt proud as any queen, for those were the first flowers any
man ever bought for me.

CHAPTER XX

D