Tims opened one of Milly's tidy drawers and sought for a handkerchief. When she had found it, Milly was standing before the high chimney-piece, over which hung a long, low mirror about a foot wide and divided into three parts by miniature pilasters of tarnished gilt. The mirror, too, was tarnished here and there, but it had been a good glass and showed undistorted the blue Delft jars on the mantel-shelf, glimpses of flickering firelight in the room, amber hair and the tear-bedewed roses of a flushed young face. Suddenly Milly thrust the jars aside, seized the candle from the table, and, holding it near her face, looked intently, anxiously in the glass. The anxiety vanished in a moment, but not the intentness. She went on looking. Tims had always perceived Milly's beauty--which had an odd way of slipping through the world unobserved--but had never seen her look so lovely as now, her eyes wide and brilliant, and her upper lip curved rosily over a shining glimpse of her white teeth. Beauty had an extraordinary fascination for Tims, poor step-child of nature! Now she stood looking at the reflection of Milly without noticing how in the background her own strange, wizened face peered dim and grotesque from the tarnished mirror, like the picture of a witch or a goblin behind the fair semblance of some princess in a fairy tale. "I do remember myself partly," said Milly, doubtfully; "and yet--somehow not quite. I suppose I shall remember you and this queer place soon, if they don't put me into a mad-house at once." "They sha'n't," said Tims, decisively. "Trust to me, M., and I'll see you through. But I'm afraid you'll have to give up all thought of your First." "My what," asked Milly, turning round inquiringly. "Your First Class, your place, you know, in the Final Honors School, Lit. Hum., the biggest examination of the lot." "Do I want it very much, my First?" "Want it? I should just think you do want it!" Milly stared at the fire for a minute, warming one foot before she spoke again. Then: "How funny of me!" she observed, meditatively. CHAPTER IV Tims's programme happened to be full on the following day, so that it was half-past twelve before she knocked at Milly's door and was admitted. Milly stood in the middle of the room in an attitude of energy, with her small wardrobe lying about her on the floor in ignominious heaps. "Tell me, Tims," said Milly, after the first inquiries, "are those positively all the clothes I possess?" "Of course they are, M. What do you want with more?" "Are they in the fashion?" asked Milly, anxiously. Tims stared. "Fashion! Good Lord, M.! What does it matter whether you look the same as every fool in the street or not?" "Oh, Tims!" cried Milly, laughing that pretty rippling laugh so strange in Tims's ears. "I was quite right when I made a mistake, you're just like a man. All the better. But you can't expect me not to care a bit about my clothes like you, you really can't." Tims drew herself up.