'What were your "once" views?' said Hazel. 'I hardly knew that people had what you call "views" about dress.' Rollo smiled. 'I suppose mine were what yours are now.' 'Then yours never had existence.' 'And your dress _happens_. Do you mean that?' 'No, no!—but if I had worn two or three necklaces to the woods this morning, it would have been want of sense and taste, not of views.' 'Certainly. Your "views" of dress are sense and taste. Or rather, your instinct, I should say.' 'But,' said Hazel,—'no, that is not what I mean. Sense and taste have to do directly with the subject,—they grow out of it, or are mixed up with it,—I wish anybody had ever taught me to talk, among other things!—I mean, they are intrinsic. And "views" always seemed to take an outside stand, irrespective of everything. I think I do not like "views." ' 'You cannot help having them,' said Dane laughing at her. ' "Views" are merely the simplest word for _how you see a thing;_ under what light, and proportions, and relations.' Hazel shook her head. 'I never was famous for seeing things,' she said. 'I think I go more by instinct. What do you compliment me by supposing my views of dress to be, Mr. Rollo?' 'That is something from which you are to get, and give, the sense of beauty, in infinite variety.' "Well, leaving that statement for the present, what are yours, please?' 'That it is a usable thing, which I am to use, like everything else,— for my Master.' Hazel glanced at him, and looked away. 'Up to a certain point,' she said, 'our views go side by side; we both call it a power.' Dane was silent, with a certain sweet, grave silence, that evidently was not in want of thoughts. Hazel sat still too for a few minutes, knotting her little fingers together. She glanced at him again before she went on. 'But further than that, I do not understand. I think, generally, I have dressed to please myself,—not often for a purpose; though I could do that, I suppose, upon occasion. That is, in my sort of way. But in _yours_, Mr. Rollo,—I should get in such a labyrinth of black merino and green silk and blue velvet and white muslin, no line that ever was twisted would be long enough to guide me out.' 'There's a short way out,' said Rollo. 'I will not let you get into a labyrinth.' 'That may alter the case,' said Hazel with a half laugh. 'But just Prim's words, and the thought of your criticising my dress, put me in such confusion to-day that I was very near not getting dressed at all; and was ever so much ashamed of myself.' The fluttering white dress, by the way, had given place to one of the soft leaf-brown silks in which she delighted. Perhaps Rollo's eyes liked it too; for they took a complacent view and came back to her face with a smile. 'It is a problem, to be worked out,' he said. 'In my way, to your ends?' queried Hazel. 'The difference lying in the use or disposal of the power when in hand. Is that what you mean?'