, too. He's handsome; I've
seen him riding along the lanes; but, of course, he doesn't pay
afternoon calls. What are you to do in a neighbourhood where there are
no nice girls, and two and a half young men?"

"Improve your mind!" returned Dreda glibly. "Providence evidently
doesn't mean you to move in the social round. Perhaps if you had, you'd
have grown proud and worldly. I think myself you _would_, for I saw
symptoms of it before we left town. Perhaps you've got to be
chastened--" Dreda stopped short with a hasty remembrance that she had
promised to sympathise, not exhort, and added hurriedly: "Maud's enough
to chasten anyone! It's sickening for you, dear, for you would have had
lots of fun, and been the belle wherever you went. Let's pretend the
Hunt Ball is to-night, and you are going to make your _debut_, a radiant
vision in white satin--no, satin's too stiff!--silver tissue. Yes, yes!
Silver tissue--how perfectly lovely!--and a parure of matchless
diamonds flashing like a river of light upon your snowy neck."

"_Debutantes_ don't wear diamonds, and it's not snowy. These boned
collar bands leave horrid red marks. An antique medallion of crystal
and pearl swung on a silver chain--"

Dreda pranced up and down on her chair in delighted appreciation.

"Yes! Yes! You're splendid, Ro; you know just what to say! And a
feather fan, with a tiny mirror let into the sticks; dear little silver
shoes with buckles, and a single white rosebud tucked in your hair below
your ear. That's the place they always put it in books. It would fall
out before the first waltz was over, but no matter! Then your opera
cloak. That must be white, too--ermine, I think, or perhaps white fox,
worth hundreds and hundreds, that a Russian prince had sent you in token
of his devotion. Oh, my dear, my dear; what an _angel_ you would look!"

Rowena laughed gaily. Her cheeks had grown pink, and her blue eyes
sparkled with enjoyment.

"Dreda, Dreda! What a mad hatter you are! Where _did_ you get such
ridiculous ideas?"

But it was evident that the ideas, ridiculous though they might be, were
by no means unpleasing, and Dreda was about to venture forth on a fresh
flight of imagination when, to the annoyance of the sisters, the door
opened and Maud, the stolid and unimaginative, stood on the threshold.

"No admittance, Maud. Go away! We're having a private talk."

"I can't go away. It's business. Something awful's happened!