"_Debutantes_ don't wear diamonds, and it's not snowy. These boned collar bands leave horrid red marks. An antique medallion of crystal and pearl swung on a silver chain--" Dreda pranced up and down on her chair in delighted appreciation. "Yes! Yes! You're splendid, Ro; you know just what to say! And a feather fan, with a tiny mirror let into the sticks; dear little silver shoes with buckles, and a single white rosebud tucked in your hair below your ear. That's the place they always put it in books. It would fall out before the first waltz was over, but no matter! Then your opera cloak. That must be white, too--ermine, I think, or perhaps white fox, worth hundreds and hundreds, that a Russian prince had sent you in token of his devotion. Oh, my dear, my dear; what an _angel_ you would look!" Rowena laughed gaily. Her cheeks had grown pink, and her blue eyes sparkled with enjoyment. "Dreda, Dreda! What a mad hatter you are! Where _did_ you get such ridiculous ideas?" But it was evident that the ideas, ridiculous though they might be, were by no means unpleasing, and Dreda was about to venture forth on a fresh flight of imagination when, to the annoyance of the sisters, the door opened and Maud, the stolid and unimaginative, stood on the threshold. "No admittance, Maud. Go away! We're having a private talk." "I can't go away. It's business. Something awful's happened!" announced Maud calmly. "A man's called, and Mason said mother was in, and she's out, and he's in the drawing-room, and it's rude to send him away. I came to tell you." "A _man_! What man?" "The Seton man. The young one with the nose." The two elder girls exchanged quick, eloquent glances. "Are you _sure_ mother is out? She was in half an hour ago." "She's out now. She went across the fields to bandage the hand of the baby that the kettle scalded in the white cottage in the dip. You'll have to see him instead." Rowena turned a face of despairing resignation upon her sister. "In this blouse! A flannel blouse. Oh, Dreda--the contrast. Think of the silver tissue!" Dreda looked, and her face was eloquent. Truth to tell, the flannel blouse, though neat and tidy, as were all Rowena's garments, could by no manner of means be called becoming. It did seem tragic to appear to an interesting stranger under such disadvantageous circumstances. "You must change it!" she cried hastily. "Put on your blue dress; you look ripping in that. I'll go in for a minute, and tell him to stay while I run for mother; by that time you'll be ready, and can talk till she gets back. I'll tell Mason to get tea. Fly! You are so quick, you can be ready in five minutes." Rowena flew, and Dreda smoothed her hair with her hands and prepared to leave the room in her wake, but Maud's square figure blocked the way, and Maud's voice demanded instantly: "And what shall _I_ do?" "You? Nothing! It's not your affair. Go up to the nursery and keep quiet."