“Oh, it does not matter what a girl feels,” said Gussy, pettishly, waving her pretty hair about her face, and concealing her looks behind it. “We have to marry somebody--and then there are so many of us. Mamma says I am not to _crêper_ my hair; but if I don’t, how can I ever make a show as everybody does? She would not like to see me different from other girls. Oh, me! I wish I was not a girl, obliged to take such trouble about how I look and what people will think; and obliged to wonder and bother and worry everybody about what some man is going to say next time I meet him. Oh, I cannot tell you how I hate men!” “I don’t hate them,” said Helena. “Why should we? Treat them simply as your fellow-creatures. They have got to live in the world, and so have we. The only thing is that we need not try to make each other miserable. There is room enough for both of us. If they will only let me use my faculties, I will take care not to interfere with them. I am not afraid, for my part, to meet them upon equal terms----” “Oh, I am so tired!” said Gussy. “I don’t want to meet any one on equal terms. I never want to see one of the wretched creatures again. I wish somebody would shut them all up, and let us have a little peace. I wish somebody would come and do my hair. Nell, you have got nothing to vex you: if you do not mind a little trouble, please ring for Angelique----” And then Gussy sat still with tolerable composure, and had her hair plaited up tight, and chattered about the Lowestofts’ dance. Her mind, after all, was not seriously disturbed either by Edgar’s silence or her mother’s threatened invitation. Perhaps, indeed, on the whole, it would be rather pleasant than otherwise to have him at Thorne. He was so nice in a house; he was kind to everybody, always ready to make himself useful--a great deal more serviceable than Harry. And to be sure he had understood perfectly, and so had she, what would have been said if, amidst all the bother of packing, they had met to-morrow. It had not been spoken in words, but in everything else it was decided and settled. Gussy fell into silence after a while, and let the idea of him glide pleasantly, tenderly through her mind. He was not a man who would be like papa, absorbed in his estate, and his sessions, and his game. He would not be selfish, as Harry sometimes was. He could not help being thoughtful of other people, tender of everybody belonging to him. There had been moments when Gussy had entertained a certain harmless envy of Clare’s supremacy. But she envied her no longer--though Queen Gussy would be a different kind of ruler from Princess Clare. CHAPTER XXVII.