e, Henry and Horace carried up the trunk and unstrapped it.
Rose looked around her with delight. "Oh, what a lovely room!" she
cried.

"It gets the morning sun," said Sylvia. "The paper is a little mite
faded, but otherwise it's just as good as it ever was."

"It is perfectly charming," said Rose. She tugged at the jewelled
pins in her hat. Sylvia stood watching her. When she had succeeded in
removing the hat, she thrust her slender fingers through her fluff of
blond hair and looked in the glass. Her face appeared over the bunch
of flowers, as Sylvia had thought of its doing. Rose began to laugh.
"Good gracious!" she said. "For all I took such pains to wash my face
in the lavatory, there is a great black streak on my left cheek.
Sometimes I think the Pullmans are dirtier than the common
coaches--that more soft-coal smoke comes in those large windows;
don't you think so?"

Sylvia colored, but her honesty was fearless. "I don't know what a
Pullman is," she said.

Rose stared for a second. "Oh, a parlor-car," she said. "A great many
people always say parlor-car." Rose was almost apologetic.

"Did you come in a parlor-car?" asked Sylvia. Rose wondered why her
voice was so amazed, even aggressive.

"Why, of course; I always do," said Rose.

"I've seen them go through here," said Sylvia.

"Do you mind telling me where my bath-room is?" asked Rose, looking
vaguely at the doors. She opened one. "Oh, this is a closet!" she
cried. "What a lovely large one!"

"There ain't such a thing as a bath-room in this house," replied
Sylvia. "Abrahama White, your aunt, had means, but she always thought
she had better ways for her money than putting in bath-rooms to
freeze up in winter and run up plumbers' bills. There ain't any
bath-room, but there's plenty of good, soft rain-water from the
cistern in your pitcher on the wash-stand there, and there's a new
cake of soap and plenty of clean towels."

Rose reddened. Again sophistication felt abashed before dauntless
ignorance. She ran to the wash-stand. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she
cried. "Of course this will do beautifully. What a charming old
wash-stand!--and the water is delightfully soft." Rose began
splashing water over her face. She had taken off her blue
travelling-gown and flung it in a heap over a chair. Sylvia
straightened it out carefully, noting with a little awe the rustle of
its silk linings; then she hung it in the closet. "I'll hang it here,
where it won't get all