Miss Adelina Wilson did not look promising, but her family was--so Miss Ryder had been credibly informed--an ornament to Cayuga County, and Mr. Wilson, père, who had called to make arrangements for his daughter's schooling, had seemed a gentlemanly, mild, slightly harassed man, of a type essentially American--a shrewd, successful business man, embarrassed by the responsibility of a family he could support but could not understand. "She's my only daughter, and her mother is gone," he explained to Miss Ryder, leaving her to vague speculation concerning the manner of Mrs. Wilson's departure. "The boys are all right. I can fix them, but Addie's different, and I guess she needs a good school and some sensible women to look after her. She's a good girl, but she has some silly notions." Looking at Addie, Belinda accepted the theory of the silly notions, but wondered just what those notions might be. She would have to find out, sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner; so she rose, set her diplomatic lance at rest, and charged the young woman. "I'm afraid you'll feel a trifle lonely at first," she said with her most friendly smile. The new girl made room for the Youngest Teacher upon the sofa beside her, and executed a smile of her own--a mechanical, studied, carefully radiant smile that left Belinda gasping. "Oh, no; I'm never lonely. I'm used to being apart," said Adelina in resigned and impressive tones. Belinda met the shock with admirable calm. "Yes, you have no sisters," she said; "brothers are nice, but they're different." Adelina sighed. "It isn't my being an only daughter that makes the difference," she explained. "It's my genius, my ambition. Nobody understands and can really sympathise with me, so I've worked on alone." The "alone" was tolled sadly and accompanied by a slow, sweet, die-away smile that worked automatically. Belinda's brain fumbled for a clew to the girl's words and affectation, and she looked closely for any earmarks of genius that might clear up the situation. Suddenly Adelina clasped her hands around her crossed knees, struck a photographic pose, and languishingly turned her great eyes full upon Belinda. "Do you think I look like Langtry?" she asked. "Lots of people have noticed the resemblance. Of course, I don't know, but I can't help believing what people tell me. There's a young gentleman who crossed on the same steamer with Langtry, and he says I'm the very image of her--only more spiritual." The Youngest Teacher had found her clew. She was sitting beside an embryonic tragedy queen, a histrionic genius in the rough. "Well, you're near Langtry's size," she admitted, "and the shape of your face is something like hers." Adelina relaxed her pose.