“You get ‘Aldersyde’ and read it,” said Miss Izzy, “or ‘Across Her Path.’” “I thought you said Carl-something-or-other.” “You’ll maybe like the others better. If George McAllister would join the literary society instead of running about the streets at nights it would answer him better. Who’s this girl he’s going to meet?” “I don’t know.” “It’s only talk, I suppose. Girls have more sense than to bother with the likes of him.” “Do you think so?” I murmured sceptically. “The kind that George cares for I don’t imagine have very much.” “You know nothing about them. If you’d any sisters you’d know more.” “I’m very glad I haven’t,” I replied. Miss Izzy bounced round. “Why?” she demanded sharply. “Girls can do everything as well as men can; only they never get the chance.” “That’s all rot,” I said ungallantly. “They’re quite different. You might as well compare cats and dogs.” “And we’re the cats, I suppose? It’s well you’re still a puppy.” “I didn’t mean you, Miss Izzy. I know there are exceptions. But most girls don’t think; or if they do, it’s only about who’s going to marry them.” “Don’t think! Well, of all!――And you and George McAllister and the others――you think a lot, don’t you?” “George doesn’t,” I admitted. “But _you_ do――especially about yourself. Do you know this, Peter Waring, you’re about as conceited and full of yourself as a monkey that’s been taught a few tricks!” “Well, I’m going away to-morrow, and you’ll not see me again for a long time.” This was not fair, as I knew it would soften Miss Izzy, and it had indeed this result. “I don’t mind seeing you,” she confessed, with a sigh, “if that’s all. It’s hearing you talk. You may give me your photograph if you like.” I had had my photograph taken quite recently for Mrs. Carroll’s birthday, and I ran upstairs and brought one down. Miss Izzy examined it critically. “I’ve got a red plush frame at home that’s about your mark.” “Don’t put me in red plush,” I begged. Miss Izzy looked up from the photograph to the original. “Is red plush not good enough for you? You’d like a gold frame, maybe?” “It’s not that,” I said hastily. “It’s only that I don’t care much for red plush. Can’t you get a plain frame? I will get one for you.” “No, thanks. I always put a plain person in an ornamental frame: it gives them a better chance.” “All right.”