dmiration of the other sex ought to be the last thing coveted
or thought of by a young person of yours."

"I'm sure, aunt, I don't want the men to admire me," I replied; "but I
would not give much for the admiration of one who could be jealous of
me for so paltry a cause as my riding better than himself; and as for
ideals, I don't know much about such things, but I think a man's ideal
may do pretty well what she likes, and he is sure to think everything
she _does_ do is perfect. Besides, I don't see why I should _bully_
him into liking me because I'm fond of the beautiful 'out of doors'
instead of the fireside. And courageous women, like courageous men,
are generally a deal more gentle than the timid ones. I've known
ladies who would not venture into a carriage or a boat who could wage
a war of words bitterer than the veriest trooper would have at his
command; and I've heard Cousin John say that there is scarcely an
instance of a veritable heroine in history, from Joan of Arc
downwards, who was not in her private life as sweet, as gentle, and as
womanly as she was high-couraged and undaunted when the moment came
that summoned her energies to the encounter. Unselfishness is the
cause in both cases, you may depend. People that are always so
dreadfully afraid something is going to happen to them think a great
deal more of self than anything else; and the same cause which makes
them tremble at imaginary danger for their own sakes will make them
forgetful of real sufferings in which they themselves have no share. I
had rather be a hoyden, Aunt Horsingham, and go on in my own way. I
have much more enjoyment; and, upon my word, I don't think I'm one bit
a worse member of society than if I was the most delicate fine lady
that ever fainted away at the overpowering smell of a rose leaf or the
merry peal of a noisy child's laugh."

My aunt lifted up her hands and gave in, for the return of Cousin
Amelia from the music-room effectually prevented further discussion;
and we beguiled the time till luncheon by alternate fits of scandal
and work, running through the characters of most of the neighbours
within twenty miles, and completely demolishing the reputation of _my_
friend, as they called her--lively, sarcastic little Mrs. Plumridge.
John was off rabbit-shooting, so of course he did not appear at that
meal so essential to ladies; and after Cousin Amelia, by way of being
delicate, had got through two cutlets, the best part of a ch