"No," I said, "they are loving gifts from Madame Deventer, and as for the arrangement, Rhoda Polly did that, questioning me as she went, and forcing me to recall exactly whether I would or not." "I sent for you," said Alida, "to tell me all about this family who have been so kind, so that I may make no mistake. And first, why did only the women come?--where was Monsieur Hugh, who dwelt with us at Autun?" I explained to her the mystery of a great factory, where were thousands of men all doing different things, and how Hugh, though but a small wheel in such a mechanism, could not leave his post at will without interfering with the work of many others. I sketched rough, strong, imperious Dennis to her. Rhoda Polly purposely somewhat vague, because I knew that she would soon enough find out about Rhoda Polly for herself. But I made word cameos of Hannah and Liz and concluded with a full-length portrait of Mrs. Deventer, in whom I hoped (though I took care not to say so) Alida would find the mother her youth had lacked. She listened with lowered eyes and a silent attention as if she were weighing every word. "Yes," she said, "I shall like them all. I feel sure--or almost." Then she asked suddenly, "Does Rhoda Polly sing? Can she play?" "In a way," I answered lamely enough; "she has had the usual lessons before she went to college, but her voice has never been trained." "Is she very clever?" "Yes, at driving nails, hanging pictures, laying down carpets, and getting a house ready--I never saw anyone to match her." "But I mean--she is very learned--will she look down upon me who have to step carefully among abysses of ignorance?" "Alida," I said earnestly, "she is likely to spoil you far more than is good for you. The others will do so also, but you will find that Rhoda Polly will win your heart more than all of us put together." "I do not think so," said Alida composedly. And then, struck by the astonishment in my face, she continued, "I shall not like her if you praise her so much!" "Do not be foolish, Alida," I said, "you should have heard me praising you to Rhoda Polly when I got back from Autun. It took me nearly one whole day, and ever since she has been painting, varnishing, and scrubbing, that the nest should be worthy of such a bird of Paradise as I described." "Oh, I know," pouted Alida, "she is infinitely better than I, more unselfish, and--and--you love her!" "She is certainly more unselfish," I said, firing up; "you have yet to learn what the word means. Perhaps that partly explains your charm, but all the same you must love Rhoda Polly." "Because _you_ do?" I was tempted to deny my gods and declare that I did not love Rhoda Polly, when the remembrance of a particular smear on her nose one day of mutual paintwork on opposite sides of a fireplace, and a way she had of throwing her head back to toss the blonde curls out of her eyes, stopped me.