Simon tried introducing Ariadne to Almeria, but Ariadne's fringe proved an insuperable barrier. As for Ariadne, Almeria's naked forehead made her feel quite shy, she said, such a double-bedded kind of forehead as that needed covering. I said, all the same, she was an idiot not to make friends with Simon's sister, for he had obviously a great respect for the girl's opinion. She might have plenty of sense in spite of her bald forehead and clumpers of boots! But it was no use, they stood glaring at each other like two Highland cattle, while Simon was trying to invent a mutual bond between them. "My sister writes a little," he said. "Only for nothing in the Parish Magazine," said Almeria, witheringly. --"And goes about," he went on, "with a hammer collecting----" "Bedlamites and Amorites," said I, to make them laugh. They didn't laugh, and Simon continued-- "And pebbling and mossing and growing sea anemones in basins." Then I got excited, and as Ariadne stood mum, I supported the conversation. "And isn't it funny to feel them claw your finger if you put it in their mouth--well, they are all mouth, aren't they?" "And stomach!" said Almeria, turning away politely. Ariadne had hardly said a word, but had left the conversation to me. But any one could see that these two never could get on. Ariadne looked as she stood on the pier, plucking at bits of hair that would get loose, just like a pale butterfly caught in the rain, while Almeria stood as fast as a capstan and as stumpy. And the abominable thing was, that Almeria was not in the least rude. She was always civil, perfectly civil--but civility is the greatest preserver of distances there is if people only knew.