"So are we. We have never before seen anything like a large city. We have never had enough money to see one. But now that Iole is married, everything is possible. It is all so interesting for us--particularly the clothing. Do you like my gown?" "It is a dream!" stammered the infatuated youth. "Do you think so? I think it is wonderful--but not very comfortable." "Doesn't it fit?" he inquired. "Perfectly; that's the trouble. It is not comfortable. We never before were permitted to wear skirts and all sorts of pretty fluffy frills under them, and _such_ high heels, and _such_ long stockings, and _such_ tight lacing--" She hesitated, then calmly: "But I believe father told us that we are not to mention our pretty underwear, though it's hard not to, as it's the first we ever had." Harrow was past all speech. "I wish I had my lounging-suit on," she said with a sigh and a hitch of her perfectly modeled shoulders. "W--what sort of things do you usually dress in?" he ventured. "Why, in dress-reform clothes!" she said, laughing. "We never have worn anything else." "Bloomers!" "I don't know; we had trousers and blouses and sandals--something like the pink pajamas we have for night-wear now. Formerly we wore nothing at night. I am beginning to wonder, from the way people look at us when we speak of this, whether we were odd. But all our lives we have never thought about clothing. However, I am glad you like my new gown, and I fancy I'll get used to this tight lacing in time.... What is your name?" "James Harrow," he managed to say, aware of an innocence and directness of thought and speech which were awaking in him faintest responsive echoes. They were the blessed echoes from the dim, fair land of childhood, but he did not know it. "James Harrow," she repeated with a friendly nod. "My name is Lissa--my first name; the other is Guilford. My father is the famous poet, Clarence Guilford. He named us all after butterflies--all my sisters"--counting them on her white fingers while her eyes rested on him--"Chlorippe, twelve years old, that pretty one next to my father; then Philodice, thirteen; Dione, fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, the one next to me, sixteen, and almost seventeen; and myself, seventeen, almost eighteen. Besides, there is Iole, who married Mr. Wayne, and Vanessa, married to Mr. Briggs. They have been off on Mr. Wayne's yacht, the _Thendara_, on their wedding trip. Now you know all about us. Do you think you would like to know us?" "_Like_ to! I'd simply love to! I----" "That is very nice," she said unembarrassed.