I laughed. "Men don't know much about that sort of thing," said I. "A woman might as well let a man tell her how to dress as how to act." She colored. "He does," she said, her eyes twinkling. "He was here two winters--this is my first. I've a kind of feeling that he really don't know, but he's positive and--I've had nobody else to talk about it with. I'm a stranger here--not a friend except people who--well, I can guess pretty close to what they say behind my back." She laughed--a great shaking of as much of her as was not held rigid by that tight corset. "Not that I care--I like a joke myself, and I'm a good deal of a joke among these grand folks. Only, I do want to help Tom, and not be a drag." She gave me a sudden, sharp look. "I don't know why I trust you, I'm sure." "Because I'm your confidential adviser," said I, "and it's always well to keep nothing from a confidential adviser." The longer I looked and listened, the larger possibilities I saw in her. My enthusiasm was rising. She rose and came to me and kissed me. There were tears in her eyes. "I've been _so_ lonesome," she said. "Even Tom don't seem natural any more, away off here in the East. Sometimes I get so homesick that I just can't eat or anything." "We're going to have a lot of fun," said I encouragingly--as if she were twenty-four and I fifty, instead of it being the other way. "You'll soon learn the ropes." "I'm so glad you use slang," she drawled, back in her chair and comfortably settled. "My, but Tom'll be scandalized. He's made inquiries about you and has made up his mind that whatever you say is right. And I almost believed he knew the trails. I might 'a' known! He's a man, you see, and always was stiff with the ladies. You ought to 'a' seen the letter he wrote proposing to me. You see, I'm kind of fat and always was. Mother used to tease me because I hadn't any beaux except Tom, who wouldn't come to the point. She said: 'Lizzie, you'll never have a man make real love to you.' And she was right. When Tom proposed he wrote very formal-like--not a sentimental word. And when we were married and got better acquainted, I teased him about it, and tried to get him to make love, real book kind of love. But not a word! But he's fond of me--we always have got on fine, and his being no good at love-talk is just one of our jokes." It was fine to hear her drawl it out--I knew that she was sure to make a hit, if only I could get her under way, could convince her that it's nice to be natural if you're naturally nice.