"No, it hasn't! I thought so before I came here and now I'm sure of it. I feel a weak and helpless creature beside you--helpless in every way. I can't do anything you can. If my father should lose his money and I should be thrown upon my own resources, I shouldn't be able to make so much as a--snowball for myself!" Both laughed in spite of Jeannette's earnestness, for the words brought back vivid memories of the wild sport of the afternoon. Then Georgiana's ready brain leaped to the inevitable corollary: "Ah, but there'd be sure to be a man ready to dash into your fort and make your snowballs for you!" "I'm not so sure." "I am." "Of course the men I know don't seem to mind whether a girl is helpless or not, if she can look and act the way they want her to. But--I'm discovering that there are other kinds of men, and somehow I like this new kind. And I imagine this kind wouldn't care for helpless girls. You made snowballs for your man to throw, and they were good hard ones, as my chin can still testify." "You can learn to make hard snowballs," said Georgiana, smiling. Jeannette held up one beautifully modelled but undeniably slender arm and clasped it with her hand. "Soft as----" She paused for a simile. "Sponge cake," supplied Georgiana, coming over to feel critically of the extended arm. "It _is_ pretty spongy. It needs exercise with a punchball or"--she flashed a mischievous glance at the languid form beside her--"a batch of bread dough." "Bread dough! Would that help it?" "Rather! So would sweeping, and scrubbing, and moving furniture about. But you're born to a life of ease, my dear, so those things are out of the question for you. But fencing lessons would be good for you--and fashionable, too, which would double their value, of course." "Georgiana!" Jeannette sat straight up and laid two coaxing arms about her cousin's firmly moulded neck. "Teach me to make bread, will you, while I'm here?" "Oh, good gracious!" Georgiana threw back her head to laugh. "Hear the child! What good would that do, if you learned? You wouldn't do it when you went back." "I would!--Well, of course, I might have difficulty in--but mother wants me to be strong; she's always fussing about it because I can't endure the round of society things she says any girl ought to--and enjoy. If you thought bread-making would really help----" "It would be a drop in the bucket of exercise you ought to take." "Nevertheless, I want to learn," persisted Jeannette as Georgiana moved away, evidently with the intention of leaving her for the night. "I'd like to feel I knew how. And your bread is the most delicious I ever tasted. Please!" "Oh, very well; I'll teach you with pleasure. I shall be setting bread sponge at six to-morrow morning. Will you be down?" Georgiana's smile was distinctly wicked. "Six o'clock!" There was a look of mingled incredulity and horror in the lovely face on the pillow. "But--does bread--does bread have to be made so early?"