"It’s that way in my little yard. There’s always a last rose that comes when the rest have gone to seed, and that’s the one I prize. Seems to me it has the laugh on all the rest. The song’s all wrong, I tell you, girls!" This heresy had the usual success of attacks on sacred texts–the orthodox paid no heed to the value of the argument; they simply resented its impudence. But all they said to Deborah was an indulgent "That’s so, Debby," and a polite "I never thought of that." As Deborah turned away, triumphant, to repeat what she had just said to Mr. Maugans, she overheard Birdaline murmur to Josie in a kinship of contempt, "Poor old Debby!" And Josie consented: "She can’t understand! She never was a rose." CHAPTER II It was as if Birdaline and Josie had slipped a knife under Deborah’s left slipped a knife under Deborah’s left shoulder-blade and pushed it into her heart. She felt a mortal wound. She clung to the piano and remembered something she had overheard Birdaline say in exactly that tone far back in that primeval epoch when Debby had been sixteen–as sweetless a sixteen as a girl ever endured. Deborah had not been pretty then, or ever before, or since. But she had been a girl, and had expected to have lovers to select a husband from. Yet lovers were denied to Deborah. The boys had been fond of her and nice to her. For Deborah was a good fellow; she was never jealous or exacting. She was jolly, understood a joke, laughed a lot, and danced well enough. She never whined or threatened if a fellow neglected her or forgot to call for his dance or pay a party-call–or anything. She accepted attentions as compliments, not as taxes. Consequently she collected fewer than she might have had. The boys respected her so much, too, that none of them insulted her with flirtatiousness. But how her hungry heart had longed to be insulted! How she had yearned to fight her way out from a strong man’s audacious arms and to writhe away from his daring lips! On that memorable night Josie had given a party and Deborah had gone. No fellow had taken her; but, then, Josie lived just across the street from the Larrabees, and Debby could run right over unnoticed and run home alone safely afterward. Debby was safe anywhere where it was not too dark to see her. Her face was her chaperon. Asaph Shillaber took Birdaline to Josie’s party that night, and he danced three times with Debby. Each time–as she knew and pretended not to know–he had come to her because of a mix-up in the program or because she was the only girl left without a partner. But a dance was a dance, and Asaph was awful light on his feet, for all he was so big.