There began to come to Rosalie, growing older, an acute and an odd feeling of the physical and mental difference between herself and beautiful Laetitia--a feeling in Laetitia’s company that she was a boy, a young man, in the company of one most pronouncedly a young woman. Rosalie was always very plainly dressed by comparison with Laetitia; her voice was much clearer and sharper, her air very vigorous against an air very langorous. Her hands used to feel extraordinarily big when she sat with Laetitia and her wrists extraordinarily bare. She would glance down at her lap sometimes and could have felt a sense of surprise not to see trousers on her legs. That was how, as they grew older, Rosalie often felt with Laetitia. Her last term came. She was nearly eighteen. She was going to earn her own living. That was decided. Exactly how was not decided; but Rosalie had decided it. There was an idea that she should remain at the Sultana’s as a junior teacher, but that was not Rosalie’s idea. “Oh, don’t be a schoolmistress, Rosalie,” Keggo had said when Rosalie told of the suggestion (propounded, through the Sultana, by Miss Ough and warmly endorsed by Aunt Belle and grunted upon by Uncle Pyke). “Oh, Rosalie, don’t be one of us. Don’t you see how we are just drifting, drifting? Don’t do anything where you’ll just drift, Rosalie.” “No, I’m not going to drift, Keggo,” said Rosalie. (Miss Keggs, in the little room, had been “Keggo” a long time then.) “I’m not going to drift. I’m going to have a man’s career. I’m going into business! Keggo, that’s the mystery of that book I’m always reading that you’re always asking me about: ‘Lombard Street’--Bagehot’s ‘Lombard Street.’ Oh, Keggo, thrilling.” She began to tell Keggo her stupendous enterprise....