Heathen'?" he said, in plaintive inquiry.

"I meant Herbert," Florence informed him. "Cousin Herbert Atwater. He
was following us, walking Dutch."

"'Cousin Herbert Atwater'?" said Noble dreamily. "'Dutch'?"

"He won't any more," said Florence. "He always hass to show off, now his
voice is changing." She spoke, and she also walked, with dignity--a
rather dashing kind of dignity, which was what Herbert's eccentricity of
gait intended to point out injuriously. In fact, never before had
Florence been so impressed with herself; never before, indeed, had she
been a member of a grown-up non-family party; never before had she gone
walking with an actual adult young man for her escort; and she felt that
she owed it to her position to appear in as brilliant an aspect as
possible. She managed to give herself a rhythmical, switching motion,
causing her kneelength skirt to swing from side to side--a pomp that
brought her a great deal of satisfaction as she now and then caught the
effect by twisting her neck enough to see down behind, over her
shoulder.

But her poise was temporarily threatened when the walking-party passed
her own house. Her mother happened to be sitting near an open window
upstairs, and, after gazing forth with warm interest at Julia and her
two outwalkers, Mrs. Atwater's astonished eyes fell upon Florence taking
care of the overflow. Florence bowed graciously.

"Florence!" her mother called down from the window: whereupon both
Florence and her Aunt Julia were instantly apprehensive, for Mrs. George
Atwater's lack of tact was a legend in the family. "Florence! Where on
earth are you going?"

"Never mind!" Florence thought best to respond. "Never mind!"

"You'd better come _in_," Mrs. Atwater called, her voice necessarily
louder as the party moved onward.

"Never mind!" Florence called back.

Mrs. Atwater leaned out of the window. "Where are you going? Come back
and get your _hat_. You'll get a _sunstroke_!"

Florence was able to conceal her indignation, and merely waved a hand
in airy dismissal as they passed from Mrs. Atwater's sight, leaving her
still shouting.

The daughter smiled negligently and shrugged her shoulders. "She'll get
over it!" she said.

"Who?"

"My mother. She was the one makin' all that noise," said Florence.
"Sometimes I do what she says: sometimes I don't. It's all accordings to
the way I feel." She looked up in her companion's face, and her
expression became politely fond as