When Marian paused there was a silence as Sylvia tried to pick out of this long speech something to which she could respond. Marian was astonishingly wise; Sylvia felt herself immeasurably younger, and she was appalled by her own ignorance before this child who had touched so many sides of life and who recounted her experiences so calmly and lightly. "This is the first time I ever visited," Sylvia confessed. "I live with my grandfather Kelton, right by Madison College, that's at Montgomery, you know. Grandfather was a professor in the college, and still lectures there sometimes. I've never been to school--" "How on earth do you escape?" demanded Marian. "It's not an escape," laughed Sylvia; "you see grandfather, being a professor, began teaching me almost before I began remembering." "Oh! But even that would be better than a boarding-school, where they make you study. It would be easy to tell your grandfather that you didn't want to do things." "I suppose it would," Sylvia acknowledged; "but it's so nice to have him for a teacher that I shouldn't know just how to do it." This point of view did not interest Marian, and she recurred to her own affairs. "I've been to Europe. Papa took us all last year. We went to Paris and London. It was fine." "My grandfather was in the United States Navy, before he began teaching at Madison, so I know a good deal from him about Europe." "Blackford--he's my brother--is going to Annapolis," said Marian, thus reminded of her brother's aspirations. "At least he says he is, though he used to talk about West Point. I hope he will go into the Army. I should like to visit West Point; it must be perfectly fascinating." "I suppose it is. I think I should like college." "Not for me!" exclaimed Marian. "I want to go to a convent in Paris. I know a girl right here in Indianapolis who did that, and it's perfectly fine and ever so romantic. To get into college you have to know algebra, don't you?" "Yes; I think they require that," Sylvia replied, on guard against a display of too much knowledge. "Do you know algebra?" demanded Marian. "Sometimes I think I don't!" "Well, there's no doubt about me! I'm sure I don't. It's perfectly horrid."