“It will make quite a little change in our little party,” said the much-too-pleasant voice. “I confess I miss very much the society of men. I have had such a great deal of it in my life. I think that ladies by themselves are apt to get a little—h’m—h’m....” And helping herself to cherry jam, she spilt it on the cloth. Milly took a large, childish bite out of her roll. There was nothing to reply to this. But how young Miss Anderson made her feel! She made her want to be naughty, to pour milk over her head or make a noise with a spoon. “Ladies by themselves,” went on Miss Anderson, who realized none of this, “are very apt to find their interests limited.” “Why?” said Milly, goaded to reply. People always said that; it sounded most unfair. “I think,” said Miss Anderson, taking off her eyeglasses and looking a little dim, “it is the absence of political discussion.” “Oh, politics!” cried Milly, airily. “I hate politics. Father always said——” But here she pulled up short. She crimsoned. She didn’t want to talk about Father to Miss Anderson. “Oh! Look! Look! A butterfly!” cried Miss Anderson, softly and hastily. “Look, what a darling!” Her own cheeks flushed a slow red at the sight of the darling butterfly fluttering so softly over the glittering table. That was very nice of Miss Anderson—fearfully nice of her. She must have realized that Milly didn’t want to talk about Father and so she had mentioned the butterfly on purpose. Milly smiled at Miss Anderson as she never had smiled at her before. And she said in her warm, youthful voice, “He is a duck, isn’t he? I love butterflies. I think they are great lambs.” § The morning whisked away as foreign mornings do. Mother had half decided to wear her hat at lunch. “What do you think, Milly? Do you think as head of the house it might be appropriate? On the other hand one does not want to do anything at all extreme.” “Which do you mean, Mother? Your mushroom or the jampot?” “Oh, not the jampot, dear.” Mother was quite used to Milly’s name for it. “I somehow don’t feel myself in a hat without a brim. And to tell you the truth I am still not quite certain whether I was wise in buying the jampot. I cannot help the feeling that if I were to meet Father in it he would be a little too surprised. More than once lately,” went on Mother quickly, “I have thought of taking off the trimming, turning in upside down, and making it into a nice little workbag. What do you think, dear? But we must not go into it now, Milly. This is not the moment for such schemes. Come on to the balcony. I have told Marie we shall have coffee there. What about bringing out that big chair with the nice, substantial legs for Mr. Prodger? Men are so fond of nice, substantial.... No, not by yourself, love! Let me help you.” When the chair was carried out Milly thought it looked exactly like Mr. Prodger. It _was_ Mr. Prodger admiring the view.