"Frances! I didn't mean that! You don't understand." "You are wrong; I do. I've a feeling that there's something mysterious about you, about your presence here; and, Dorothy Gilbert, if there's anything I do love, it's mystery. I suppose it's too much to hope that it's one of those frightful mysteries, of which one only speaks with bated breath--that sort of blood-curdler never crosses my path. But, whatever it may be, I foresee a perfectly delightful time ahead, while I am engaged in wriggling out from you the secret. However insinuating I may be, baffle my curiosity; and for goodness sake don't let it burst on me too soon. Let it dawn on me by degrees; in instalments, my dear; and let me have a shock with each instalment; each one greater than the last; so that the full comprehension of the mystery comes with a culminating shock which turns my hair almost grey--almost, my pet, not quite, if you please. I've heard that grey hair suits some girls; but I don't believe I'm one of them. By the way of beginning my insinuating, let me remark that you have changed since I saw you." "So have you--and you must have changed more than I have, because I didn't know you, and you did know me." "That's true. Now, Dorothy, no flummery, and no fibs--in what respect do you consider I have altered?" "Well--for one thing you seem to be so much more of a woman." "Do I? Isn't that natural?" "I don't know; it isn't so very long since I saw you last." "A great many things may happen in a very short time." "That's true." Dorothy sighed; but Miss Vernon was smiling. Then she said, with an air which would be grave, but was not: "There are women and women. I have heard people say that when one becomes a woman one should show a consciousness of the responsibilities of womanhood. I hope I don't show too much of that kind of thing." "I don't think you ever will do that." "Sha'n't I? You never can tell. A man I danced with last week--he was quite old, over thirty--said that it bursts upon you all at once, what it means to be a woman. I don't know what he knows about it, as he's only a man; but I've noticed that some men, when they're old, do seem to know a good deal about women--or they pretend to. What do you think of this dress?" "It's a perfect dream!" "Really?" "I never saw anything so lovely." "I fancy it is rather--too-too; and I believe that's what Jim thinks; that's why he keeps calling me a perfect fright. Oh, those brothers! they have such ways of paying a compliment. What do you think of the hat?" Again Dorothy sighed; but this time it was a sigh of admiration. "Frances, it's simply sweet!" "Notice the hair?" "Rather; and I believe it's the hair which is more responsible for the change which I see in you than anything else. Of course the clothes have something to do with it--you didn't wear frocks and hats like that in the convent." "My dear! what are you talking about? Fancy the sensation I'd have made! Can't you see the Mother's face?"