Clytie stepped awesomely into the pretty room, and gazed about fearsomely, almost as if she suspected a trap somewhere, almost as if she felt herself an intruder, yet bold enough to see the experience through to the finish. It wasn’t in the least what she had expected of Carey, but it was interesting. She decided they were “highbrows” whatever that was. She took off the elaborate hat, and puffed out her hair, bobbed in the latest way and apparently electrified to make every hair separate from every other, in a whirl around her head, much like a dandelion gone to seed. Louise watched her as she prinked a moment before the mirror, rubbing her small tilted nose with a bit of a dab from her hand-bag, touching her eyebrows and lips, and ruffling out her hair a little wilder than before. The little girl was glad that the guest said nothing. Now if she could only get her down into the living room before Carey suspected! Somehow she felt that it would not be well for Carey to know before he came downstairs that that girl was in the house. There was no knowing what Carey might do. So she led the silent guest downstairs, and remarked as they reached the safety of the landing, “It’s a pleasant evening.” The guest stepped down, took another survey of the astonishingly lovely room, and responded absently: “Yeah! It is!” “Just sit down, and I will tell my sister you have come,” said Louise airily, and vanished with relief, her awful duty done. Cornelia came in at once, followed by Grace, and overwhelmed the young woman with their pleasant welcome. Astonishment and wary alertness were uppermost in the guest’s face. She had begun to suspect something somewhere. She was sharp. She knew a girl of this kind would never have chosen her as a guest. Could it be that Carey had demanded it? She resented the presence of this other pretty, quiet girl in a blue organdie with no rouge on her face. Who was she, and what did they have to invite her for? Was she another of Carey’s girls? She sat down uncomfortably on the edge of the chair offered her, and tried to pull down her inadequate little skirts. Somehow these graceful girls made her feel awkward and out of place. Cornelia excused herself, and went back to the kitchen after a few pleasant words; and Grace Kendall took over the task of entertaining the silent guest, who eyed her sullenly and could not be made to vouchsafe more reply to any question than “Yes” or “No.” But Grace had not been born a minister’s daughter for nothing, and she was past mistress of all the graces of conversation and of making people feel at their ease. She was presently deep in the story of a certain set of photographs of strange lands that had been gathered by her father in a trip he had taken several years before, and the other girl in spite of herself was getting interested.