One evening shortly after our return, Aunt Helen said to me, with a prefatory cough which was apt to be a sign that she regarded the topic to be broached as delicate,-- "Virginia, it is time for you to be thinking about your party dresses. Of course it is too late now to send to Paris; but I fancy it is possible to get tolerable things here, if one is ready to pay a little more." "I shall not require party dresses. I am not going anywhere this winter," I answered quietly. As I have just intimated, Aunt Helen was somewhat apprehensive regarding my plans, owing to a few hints which I had let fall at Tinker's Reach. She had suggested my sending an order to Paris about a fortnight subsequent to my last interview with Mr. Dale, but I declined emphatically to do so. It was evident, however, from her expression that my resolve was a source of surprise and dismay to her. "Not go anywhere? Why, people will think you are ill." "My looks will belie that, Aunt Helen." "It will seem so odd and peculiar. A girl always enjoys her second winter more than the first. Just when you have come to know everybody too! I hope you will reconsider this, dear. You had better order the dresses at any rate," she continued; "you might want to go when the time comes, and then it would be too late." I shook my head decisively: "I am sorry to disappoint you, but my mind is made up." Aunt Helen coughed again. "You are not disappointing _me_; it is only on your own account that I feel badly. You will make a great mistake, Virginia. Of course, dear, you have passed through a very unpleasant experience, which I am all the more able to appreciate from having had, as you are aware, sorrows of a similar kind. But painful as such experiences are for those called upon to undergo them, they are, I regret to say, far from uncommon; and if a young person who has suffered a disappointment were to turn his or her back on all entertainments, what, pray, would become of society?" "Society will get along very well without me," I answered. Aunt Helen knitted rapidly in silence, and the color mounted to her cheeks. "You will make a great mistake, Virginia," she repeated,--"a great mistake. No young lady of your age can afford to make herself conspicuous by acting differently from other people. Do you wish to be called eccentric and peculiar?" "I don't much care," said I with a spice of wickedness. "It might be rather attractive, I should think, to be different from everybody else." "I can imagine who has been putting such ideas into your head. In my opinion one strong-minded woman in the family is quite enough," she said with a toss of her head. I knew that she referred to Aunt Agnes, who had returned from Europe a few weeks before; therefore I said,-- "I have not exchanged a word with anybody on the subject." "What _is_ the reason, then, that you persist in being so contrary?" she exclaimed in a thoroughly worried tone, laying down her work on her lap.