"Oh, Dreda, why? We think it so natural. We were made for each other. It seems as if we must always have been engaged. I thought you would be so pleased." "Well, I'm not," declared Dreda decidedly. "Not at all. I don't like it one bit. It upsets all my plans. I used to imagine that father would get all his money back and I should come home from school and go about with you--two fair young _debutantes_--always together, having such fun, sitting up afterwards in our bedrooms brushing our hair and talking over what had happened as they do in books. It will be so dull being alone with no one but Maud. Oh, Rowena, you _are_ selfish!" But Rowena only laughed, and dimpled complacently. "Oh, Dreda, you _are_ funny! You didn't expect me always to stay at home, did you? I am the eldest; it is only natural that I should be married first, and if I _am_ to be married, surely you would rather have Guy than anyone else! There is no one like him. All the men we have known are like puppets compared with him. He is so true, so strong, so noble. You ought to be proud, Dreda, that you are going to have him for a brother." "Well, I'm not," declared Dreda once more. "It's not a bit what I expected. I thought that first day he seemed so taken with _me_! I thought--at least, I didn't think, but I _should_ have thought if I had thought, do you understand?--that he would have wanted to be engaged to _me_! Not yet, of course, but he could have waited till I was grown up. And you were so huffy and stiff, and I raced across the fields to find mother, and took such trouble. It doesn't seem fair!" But Rowena only laughed again, without a trace of offence. "Poor old Dreda, it _is_ hard lines. Never mind, dear; think of the wedding, and how you will enjoy being chief bridesmaid, and how lovely it will be when you come to stay with me in my own little house. Won't it be fun doing just as we like, and ordering the dinners, and having parties whenever we like, and being absolutely and entirely our own mistresses, with no one to say: `Don't!' or `You must not,' or `I'll leave it to you, dear--but you know my wishes!' That's the worst of all, for it seems to put you on your honour, and then you're powerless. You must often come to stay with us, Dreda dear." Dreda lay silently, considering the situation. The prospect painted by Rowena was sufficiently enticing to mitigate her first displeasure. Pictures of bridal processions passed before her eyes; pictures of a charmingly artistic little house, which would be as a second home, an ideal home free from discipline and authority. The frown faded, her lips relaxed, a dimple dipped in her cheek.