“Why--let me see. 'David Harum' and 'The History of Ancient Greece'-that's all I think. And oh, yes--I got a French dictionary on my way home this afternoon.” “Oh! A French dictionary!” commented father. “It isn't books, Horace,” remarked Aunt Nettie, incomprehensibly. “It's that O'Neill girl.” “What's that O'Neill girl?” demanded Missy, in a low, suppressed voice. “Well, if you ask me, her head's full of--” But a swift gesture from mother brought Aunt Nettie to a sudden pause. But Missy, suspecting an implied criticism of her friend, began with hauteur: “I implore you to desist from making any insinuation against Tess O'Neill. I'm very proud to be epris with her!” (Missy made the climactic word rhyme with “kiss.”) There was a little hush after this outburst from the usually reserved Missy. Father and mother stared at her and then at each other. But Aunt Nettie couldn't refrain from a repetition of the climactic word; “E-priss!” And she actually giggled! At the sound, Missy felt herself growing “deathly mute, even to the lips”, but she managed to maintain a mien of intense composure. “What does that mean, Missy?” queried father. He was regarding her kindly, with no hint of hidden amusement. Father was a tall, quiet and very wise man, and Missy had sometimes found it possible to talk with him about the unusual things that rose up to fascinate her. She didn't distrust him so much as most grown-ups. So she smiled at him and said informatively: “It means to be in intense sympathy with.” “Oh, I see. Did you find that in the French dictionary?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, I see we'll all have to be taking up foreign languages if we're to have such an accomplished young lady in the house.” He smiled at her in a way that made her almost glad, for a moment, that he was her father instead of a Duke who might surround her with baronial magnificence. Mother, too, she couldn't help loving, though, in her neat, practical gingham dress, she was so unlike Lady Chetwoode, the mother in “Airy Fairy Lilian.” Lady Chetwoode wore dainty caps, all white lace and delicate ribbon bows that matched in colour her trailing gown. Her small and tapering hands were covered with rings. She walked with a slow, rather stately step, and there was a benignity about her that went straight to the heart... Well, there was something about mother, too, that went straight to the heart. Missy wouldn't trade off her mother for the world.