“Stone gate-posts, beds of old-time posies, backed by cobble-stone walls with hedges of green, and a little white house, like a keeper’s lodge, peered curiously out of the silver shadows of the rising moon as we whizzed up the roadway to Seven Pillars, and came to a stop under the _porte-cochère_ of a large, white mansion, set on a green knoll, facing the rocky heights of far-distant mountains. Here square glass lanterns threw yellowish gleams on the wide, low veranda, with its seven magic pillars,—round, fluted columns reaching high above the second-story windows, as with lofty stateliness they held the pointed dome above the portico. “Passing through the quaint, white-columned doorway, with its tiny panes of glass and shiny brass knocker, we stood, dazed and tired, in a broad, gloomy hall, where, in the flare from a snapping log-fire, numerous trophies of the hunt eyed us glassily, as we were welcomed by my cousin, Janet Page, and her sister, Cynthia. “Janet is a winsome thing. We have already become great chums, although she is a few years older than your lonesome. She is short and plump, with a white, satiny skin, and apple-blossom cheeks that make you feel that you want to kiss the pink of them. Her eyes fairly beam with kindliness as she looks at you from under her short, wavy brown hair. She’s a pacifist and a suffragist, and aims to be a farmerette. Although she has decided ideas on the war and voting questions, they are rather vague on farming, but she goes about saying, ‘God speed the plow and the woman who drives it.’ “Cynthia Loretto Stillwell—she always insists on the Loretto, as it is the sole heritage from some Italian ancestor, famed for his noble birth and deeds of valor—is not my own cousin, as she is the daughter of my uncle’s wife, who was a widow when they married. She is distinctively tall, somewhat angular, with sharp features, a drooping, discontented mouth, and a sallow skin which she endeavors to hide by dabs of white and pink powder. Her eyes are large and dark, and would be handsome, if they did not repel you at times by their hard, metallic glitter. Her coiffure is a wonderful combination of braids, curls, and puffs, and made me wonder how she did it. She greeted us effusively, but somehow its warmth seemed cold and artificial, and—well, I don’t believe I’m going to like her.