It was emb*arr*assment. Woe and desolation! A crimson shameful blush ran up the pink cheeks, her constant anxiety being that they were always so pink, and made a royal progress there. The hot mortification of despair lent it wings. She watched the tide of red creep to the soft curls of her hair as she viewed herself in her own little miniature cheval between creamy curtains, and she saw her complexion die down at last to an unusual but becoming paleness. She had said "embarr*ass*ment." Nothing could have been more fatal. It was like a disease with Elma, that instead of using the everyday words regarding which no one could make a mistake--such as "shyness" in this instance--she should invariably plunge into others which she merely knew by sight and find them unknown to herself as talking acquaintances. Cousin Dr. Harry Vincent, Staff Surgeon in His Majesty’s Navy, eyeglass in eye, merry smile at his lips ("such a dashing cousin the Leightons have visiting them" was the comment), the sort of person in short that impressed Elma with the need of being very dashing herself, here was the particular of all particulars before whom she had made this ridiculous mistake. "Now," had said Dr. Harry in the drawing-room when visitors arrived, "come and play something." Any other girl overcome by Elma’s habitual fright when asked to play, would have said, "I’m too shy." Elma groaned as she thought how easy that would have been. But Dr. Harry’s single eyeglass fascinated her as with a demand for showing some kind of culture. She blinked her eyelids nervously and answered, "My embarr*ass*ment prevents me." Dr. Harry never moved a muscle of his usually mobile and merry countenance. But the flaming sword of fear cut further conversation dead for Elma. She became subtly conscious that the word was wrong, and fled to her room. "While I’m here," she said dismally, "I may as well look up ’melodramic.’" This was a carking care left over from a conversation in the morning. It proved another tragedy. Being really of a cheerful sunny nature, which never for long allowed clouds to overshadow the bright horizon of her imagination, she acquainted herself thoroughly with the right term. "One consolation is, I shall never make that mistake again as long as I live. Melodramatic," she repeated with the swagger of familiarity. Then "emb, emb--Oh! dear, I’ve forgotten again." Concluding that embarrassment was a treacherous acquaintance, she decided to drop it altogether. "After this I shall only be shy," she said with a certain amount of refined pleasure in her own humour. She regarded her figure dismally in the cheval. Her chubby face had regained its undistinguished pink. She was sorry she could not remain pale, it was so much more distinguished to be pale. "How long I take to grow up--in every way." She sighed in a reflective manner. What she was thinking was how long she took to become like one of the Story Book Girls.