"The more foolish you! I hope and pray, Rhoda, that you are not going to develop into one of the strong-minded young women one meets nowadays, who seem to spend their lives in trying to be as much like men as possible. It will be a mistake if you do. Be as learned as you like, and as sensible as you like, and as hardy as you like--that is all to the good--but, for pity's sake, be pretty too, and dainty, and feminine! We don't want to have all our womenkind swallowed up in athletes, warranted to be `hard kicks,' or `useful forwards!' We want them to play the ornamental part in life, and be pretty, and sweet, and attractive." "Ha, ha, yes! That's the man's point of view!" quoth Rhoda loftily, and her brother smiled good-naturedly as the cab stopped before the hotel. "It is, my dear, that's very certain; and as you will probably meet a good many men as you go through life, you might as well study their opinion. It may be regrettable, but it is certainly true, that you will have more influence if you are agreeable to look at. You would have more influence over _me_ at this moment if you would kindly walk upstairs and make yourself look--er--a little more like your old self!" "Oh, I don't mind. Anything to please you!" said Rhoda carelessly, and strode upstairs after the chambermaid, smiling to herself in lofty superiority at Harold's "dandy ways." She did not smile, however, when, on coming suddenly in front of the mirror, she caught a full-length reflection of herself, for her brother's presence had unconsciously altered her point of view, so that she saw herself no longer from the standpoint of Hurst Manor, but that of Erley Chase. Yes, Harold was right! It was not only the pigtail; there was an indefinable difference in her whole appearance. The clothes were the same, the girl was the same, but there was no longer the immaculate neatness, the dainty care, the well-groomed look which had once characterised her. In her usual impetuous fashion, she had rushed from one extreme to the other; in discarding vanity, had run perilously near neglect. "I look a nasty, horrid, hidjus fright!" she cried aloud, staring in disgust at the unwelcome vision. "I couldn't have believed it--really I couldn't! It's the fault of those horrid little cubicles with the glass stuck in the darkest corner. Harold was right. Mother would have been shocked."