‘I will have my plain white frock, please, nurse--the one I wore last night,’ said Cara, absolutely unaware of any connection that could exist between Oswald Meredith’s good looks and her second-best evening dress--a dress that might do for a small dance, as Aunt Cherry had impressed upon her. It never occurred to the girl that her own simple beauty could be heightened by this frock or that. Vanity comes on early or late, according to the character; but, except under very favourable (or unfavourable) circumstances, seldom develops in early youth. Cara had not even begun to think whether she herself was pretty or not, and she would have scorned with hot shame and contempt the idea of dressing for effect. People only think of dress when they have self-consciousness. She did not understand enough of the a, b, c of that sentiment to put any meaning to what nurse said, and insisted upon her plain muslin gown, laughing at the earnestness of the attendant. ‘It is too fine,’ she said. ‘Indeed I am not obstinate: it would be a great deal too fine.’ Her father was waiting for her in the hall when the simple toilette was completed, and Mrs. Meredith had not yet made her appearance when the two went into the drawing-room next door. Mr. Beresford sat down with his eyes turned towards the door. ‘She is almost always late,’ he said, with a smile. He was a different man here--indulgent, gentle, fatherly. Mrs. Meredith came in immediately after, with pretty lace about her shoulders and on her head. ‘Oswald is late, as usual,’ she said, putting her hand into Mr. Beresford’s. He looked at her, smiling, with a satisfied friendly look, as if his eyes loved to dwell upon her. He smiled at Oswald’s lateness; did not look cross, as men do when they are waiting for their dinner. ‘Cara is punctual, you see,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Cara is a dear child,’ said Mrs. Meredith. ‘She has been with me all day. How odd that you should be made complete by a daughter and I by a son, such old friends as we are! Ah! here is Oswald. Would you have known him, Cara? Oswald, this is----’ ‘There is no need to tell me who it is,’ said Oswald. Cara saw, when she looked at him, that what the others had said was true. It did not move her particularly, but still she could see that he was very handsome, as everybody had told her. He took her hand, which she held out timidly, and, without any ceremony, drew it within his arm. ‘We must go to dinner at once,’ he said, ‘or Sims will put poison in the soup. She longs to poison me, I know, in my soup, because I am always late; but I hope she will let me off for your sake, Cara. And so really you are little Cara? I did not believe it, but I see it is true now.’ ‘Why did you not believe it? I think I should have known you,’ said Cara, ‘if I had met you anywhere. It is quite true; but you are just like Oswald all the same.’