Twenty yards farther Elma came to a halt, eyes and lips opened wide in gaping astonishment at the sight of the trespasser. "Cornelia! You are sitting on the grass." "That's so! Why shouldn't I, if I've a mind?" "It's forbidden!" "Oh, shucks!" cried Cornelia, impatiently. "Who by?" Elma waved her hand vaguely towards the crescent of houses. "Everybody--all of them! It's a rule. They all agreed." "Suppose they did! I guess it would take more than ten old ladies to prevent me doing what I want. What's the good of grass, anyway, if you can't enjoy it? It's lovely up here. I'm as cool as an otter. You look pretty warm after your walk. Step over, and come right here by me." She patted the ground beside her, and smiled in her most irresistible fashion. "We'll have the loveliest talk--" Elma hesitated, fascinated but dismayed. "I daren't. It's breaking the rules. What would they say?" "That's what we've got to find out. They can't kill us, anyway, and we'll have had a good time first. You've got to pay your bills in this wicked world. Now, then--hustle!" "I can't!" faltered Elma, and lifted one foot over the wire arch, "I daren't!" and stepped completely over, lifting her skirt behind her. The deed was done! A tingle of excitement ran through her veins, she reared her head and laughed aloud, looking with bright, unashamed eyes at the curtained windows. The moment of revolt had come; a moment long desired in the depths of a meek, long-suffering heart, and prepared for by many a seething inward struggle. Cornelia had applied the match, and the tow blazed. Elma laughed again, and seated herself beneath the tree. Cornelia had tossed her hat on the ground and clasped her hands round her knees in comfortable, inelegant position. Elma did the same, and the American girl, watching her, was at a loss to account for the reckless radiance of her smile. The sunshine flickered down between the branches on the sweet pink and white face, the pansy blue eyes, and long slender throat; it shone alike on the ill-fitting gown, the clumsy shoes, the carelessly arranged hair. Cornelia's golden eyes travelled up and down, down and up, in earnest, scrutinising fashion. She met Elma's glance with a shake of the head, forbearing, yet reproachful. "Say! You don't know how to prink, do you?" "Prink?" Elma was doubtful even as to the meaning of the word. She arched her brows in inquiry, whereat Cornelia laughed aloud. "You are real, genuine English! You make me think of roses, and cream, and honey, and mountain dew, and everything that's sweet and wholesome, and takes no thought of the morrow. If you lived over with us, we'd fix you up so your own mother wouldn't know you, and there'd be paragraphs about you in the papers every single day, saying what you did, and what you were wearing, and how you looked when you wore it." "`Miss Elma Ramsden sat on the grass, attired in a blue rag, with freckles on her nose.'"