ike you better."

Miranda's frank speech reminded Marcia of Mary Ann and made her feel quite
at home with her curious visitor. She did not mind being told she was not
up to the mark of beauty. From her point of view she was not nearly so
pretty as Kate, and her only fear was that her lack of beauty might reveal
the secret and bring confusion to David. But she need not have feared: no
one watching the two girls, as they sat in the large sunny room and faced
each other, but would have smiled to think the homely crude girl could
suggest that the other calm, cool bud of womanhood was not as near
perfection of beauty as a bud could be expected to come. There was always
something child-like about Marcia's face, especially her profile,
something deep and other-world-like in her eyes, that gave her an
appearance so distinguished from other girls that the word "pretty" did
not apply, and surface observers might have passed her by when searching
for prettiness, but not so those who saw soul beauties.

But Miranda's time was limited, and she wanted to make as much of it as
possible.

"Say, I heard you making music this morning. Won't you do it for me? I'd
just love to hear you."

Marcia's face lit up with responsive enthusiasm, and she led the way to
the darkened parlor and folded back the covers of the precious piano. She
played some tender little airs she loved as she would have played them for
Mary Ann, and the two young things stood there together, children in
thought and feeling, half a generation apart in position, and neither
recognized the difference.

"My land!" said the visitor, "'f I could play like that I wouldn't care ef
I had freckles and no father and red hair," and looking up Marcia saw
tears in the light blue eyes, and knew she had a kindred feeling in her
heart for Miranda.

They had been talking a minute or two when the knocker suddenly sounded
through the long hall again making both girls start. Miranda boldly
tiptoed over to the front window and peeped between the green slats of the
Venetian blind to see who was at the door, while Marcia started guiltily
and quickly closed the instrument.

"It's David's aunts," announced Miranda in a stage whisper hurriedly. "I
might 'a' known they would come this afternoon. Well, I had first try at
you anyway, and I like you real well. May I come again and hear you play?
You go quick to the door, and I'll slip into the kitchen till they get in,
and then I'll go out th