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“These are your apartments, young ladies,” said the governess who had taken us upstairs. “This is your sitting-room, where to-night you will have your supper. You will not see your companions – or I think not – until the morning. You will be glad to retire to rest, doubtless, as you must have had a long journey. Your supper will come up in a moment or two. If you give your trunks to Justine she will unpack them and put your things away. Ah! here is the bell; if you will ring it when you want anything, Justine, who is the maid whose special duty it is to wait on you, will attend the summons.”

The governess turned to go away.

“But, please,” called out Hermione as she was closing the door, “what are we to call you?”

“Mademoiselle Wrex.”

We thanked her, and she vanished. Augusta stood in the middle of the room and clasped her hands.

“Well, now, I call this jolly!” I said.

“Delightful! And how quaint!” said Hermione. “I never thought we should have a sitting-room.”

“But there isn’t a book,” remarked Augusta.

“Oh, we don’t want books to-night, Augusta. Now, do lean on my moral strength and forget everything unpleasant,” I said.

“Oh! do look out of the window; here’s a balcony,” cried Hermione. “Let us go out on it when we have had supper.”

She pushed back the curtains, opened the window, and the next minute she was standing on the little balcony looking down into the crowded street.

“Oh! and that house opposite; we can see right into its rooms. What fun! What fun! I do call this life!” cried the girl.

“We had better go and unlock our trunks; remember we are at school,” I said.

“How unlike you, Dumps, to think of anything sensible!” was Hermione’s remark.

We went into our rooms.

“I am going to ring the bell for Justine,” said Hermione.

She did so, and a very pretty girl dressed in French style appeared. She could not speak English, but our home-made French was sufficient for the occasion. We managed to convey to her what we wanted, and she supplied us with hot water, took our keys, and immediately began to unpack our trunks and to put away our belongings.

“You shall have the room next to the sitting-room,” I said to Hermione.

“Very well,” she answered.

“I will take the next,” I said; “and, Augusta, will you have that one?”

“It’s all the same to me,” said Augusta.

In less than half-an-hour we felt ourselves more or less established in our new quarters.

“Now,” said Justine, becoming much animated, “you will want, you pauvre petites, some of the so nécessaire refreshment.”

She rang the bell with energy, and a man appeared bearing chocolate, cakes of different descriptions, and sandwiches. We sat down and made a merry meal. Even Augusta was pleased. She forgot the absence of books; she even forgot how far she was from the Professor. As to her poor mother, I do not think she even gave her a serious thought Hermione and I laughed and chatted. Finally we went and stood on the balcony, and Augusta retired to her own room.

“Now this is a new era; what will it do for us both?” said Hermione.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Aren’t you happy, Dumps?”

“Yes, I am a little; but I don’t suppose I am expected to take things very seriously.”

“It is a great change for me,” said Hermione, “from the regularity of the life at home.”

“I suppose it is,” I said; but then I added, “You cannot expect me to feel about it in that way.”

“Why so?”

“It seems to me,” I continued, “that I have been for the last few months taken off my feet and whirled into all sorts of new conditions. We were so poor, so straitened; we seemed to have none of what you would call the good things of life. Then all of a sudden Fortune’s wheel turned and we were – I suppose – rich. But still – ”

“Don’t say you prefer the old life.”

“No – not really. I know she is so good; but you must admit that it is a great change for me.”

“I know it is; but you ought to be thankful.”

“That is it; I don’t think I am. And what is more,” I continued, “I don’t think this is the right school for Augusta. There is just a possibility that I may be shaped and moulded and twisted into a sort of fine lady; but nothing will ever make Augusta commonplace, nor will anything make you commonplace. Oh dear! there is some one knocking at the door.”

The knock was repeated. We said, “Come in!” and a girl with a very curly head of dark hair, bright eyes to match, and a radiant face, first peeped at us, then entered, shut the door with a noisy vehemence, and came towards as with both her hands extended.

Half-way across the room she deliberately shut her eyes.

“Now, I wonder which of you I shall feel first. One is Dumps and the other Hermione. I am expected to adore Dumps because she is so jolly and plain and sensible and – and awkward; and I am expected to worship Hermione because she is exactly the reverse. Now – ah! I know – this is Hermione!”

She clasped her arms round my somewhat stout waist.

“Wrong – wrong!” I cried.

She opened her eyes and uttered a merry laugh.

“I have been introduced to you,” she said, “by special letter from my friend Lilian St. Leger. And you are Dumps?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Good! You do look jolly. I am Rosalind Mayhew. I am a great friend of Lilian’s. Of course, I am younger than she is – I am a year younger – and I am going to be at school for another year, so I’ll see you through, Dumps; Lilian has asked me to.”

“Sit down and tell us about every thing,” I said. “You know we are such strangers.”

“Washed up on this inhospitable shore, we scarcely know what we are to do with ourselves, or what savages we are to meet,” said Hermione very merrily.

“Then I’ll just tell you everything I can. You know, Mademoiselle Wrex would be wild if she knew that I had come up to see you this evening. She said I was not to do so, but to leave you in peace. Well, I could not help myself. I slipped out to come here, and I told Elfreda and Riki and Fhemie and Hortense that I could not resist it any longer.”

“What queer names!” I said.

“Oh, Riki – she’s a German comtesse; and Elfreda is a baroness; but we always call them just Riki and Elfreda. They are very jolly girls. Then as to Fhemie, she is more English than I am; and Hortense is French of the French. There are all sorts of girls at our school. The Dutch girls are some of the nicest. I will introduce you to them. Then there are Swedes, and several Americans. The Americans are very racy.”

“How many girls are there altogether at the school?” I asked.

“Well, between twenty and thirty. You see, the Baroness Gablestein is exceedingly particular.”

“Who is she?”

“My dear Dumps! You don’t mean to say that you have come to this school without knowing the name of our head-mistress?”

“A baroness? Gablestein?” I exclaimed.

“Yes; she really represents a sort of all-round nationality. To begin with, she is an Englishwoman herself by birth – that is, on one side. Her mother was English, but her father was French. Then she married a German baron, whose mother was a Dutchwoman, and whose grandmother was Italian. Her husband died, and she found, poor baroness! that she had not quite enough to live on, and so, as she was exceedingly well educated and had many aristocratic connections, she thought she would start a school. Her name in full is Baroness von Gablestein. She is most charming. She talks excellent English, but she also talks French and German and Italian like a native. She has a fair idea of the Dutch tongue, and is exceedingly kind to her Dutch connections; but I think her most valued pupils hail from the island home. But there! I don’t think I ought to stay any longer to-night. I don’t want Comtesse Riki to become curious and to poke her aristocratic little nose in here. She is a very jolly girl, and as nice as ever she can be; still, she is not English, you know. Oh, you’ll find all sides of character here. I can’t tell you how funny it is, particularly with regard to the French and German girls; they are so interested about their dot and their future husbands and all the rest. I tell you it is life in this place! We do have good times; it isn’t a bit like a regular school. You see all sorts and conditions – good, bad, and indifferent; but I suppose the good preponderate. Now kiss me, Dumps. You will be quite a fresh variety. I believe you are blunt and honest – but, oh, don’t break the Salviati glass!”

“How very wrong of Lilian to have told you that story!” I said.

“My dear good creature, do you think that Lilian St. Leger could keep anything to herself? She is about the maddest young woman I ever came across; but we do miss her at school. Her name will be ‘Open sesame’ to you to every heart in the place. She is just the nicest and most bewitching of creatures. I only wish she was back.”

“She is coming out in about a month,” I said.

“Poor thing, how she always did hate the idea!”

“She won’t when the time comes,” said Hermione.

“Once she is plunged into that fun she will enjoy it as well as another.”

“I never should,” I said.

Rosalind glanced at me and laughed.

“Oh, perhaps you’ll change too,” she said. “Well, you look awfully nice. Your breakfast will be brought to your rooms to-morrow morning sharp at seven o’clock. We have déjeuner at twelve, afternoon tea at four, dinner at seven. The rest of the day is divided up into all sorts of strange and odd patterns, totally different from English life. But, of course, the meals are all-important.”

“Why,” I said, “I did not think you were so greedy.”

“Nor are we; but you see, dear, during meals we each speak the language of our native country, and I can tell you there is a babel sometimes when the Baroness is not at the head of her table. All the rest of the time the English girls must talk French, German, or Italian; and the French ones must talk English, German, or Italian; and the German girls must talk French, English, or Italian; and so on, and so on.”

“Oh, you confuse me,” I said. “How can any one girl talk three languages at once?”

“Day about, or week about – I forget which,” said Rosalind. “Now, good-night, good-night.”

She vanished.

“I declare I am dead-tired,” I said, and I sank down on the sofa.

“What a good thing Augusta wasn’t here!” said Hermione.

“Yes; she wouldn’t have understood a bit,” I said.

I went to Augusta’s room that night before I lay down to rest. She was sound asleep in the dress she had travelled in. She had not even taken the trouble to put a wrap over her. She looked tired, and was murmuring Latin verses in her sleep.

“It is not the right place for her; she will never, never get on with these baronesses and comtesses, and all this medley of foreign life,” I could not help saying to myself.

I covered her up, but did not attempt to awake her; and then I went to my own room, got into bed, and went to sleep with a whirl of emotion and wonder filling my brain.

Part 2, Chapter IX
First Impressions

It seemed to me that I had hardly closed my eyes in sleep before I was awakened again by seeing Justine standing by my bedside with a tray of very appetising food in her hand.

“Here are your rolls and coffee, mademoiselle,” she said.

As she spoke she laid the little tray on a small table by the side of my bed, evidently put there for the purpose; and taking a dressing-jacket from the wardrobe, she made me put it on, and admonished me to eat my breakfast quickly, as I must rise and attend prayers in the space of three-quarters of an hour.

Here was hurry indeed. I munched my delicious rolls, and sipped my coffee, and thought of the new life which was before me, and then I got up with energy and washed and dressed. When I had completed my toilet I went into the sitting-room, for although our rooms opened one into the other, there were other doors on to an adjoining landing. Here I found Hermione waiting for me.

“Where’s Augusta?” I said.

“I don’t know – surely she is dressed.”

“I’ll go to her room and find out,” I said.

I went and knocked at the door. A heavy voice said “Come in,” and I entered. Augusta was now lying well wrapped up in the bedclothes. She had not touched either her coffee or her rolls.

“Aren’t you getting up?” I said. “The bell will ring in a moment for prayers. We are expected to go down.”

“I have a headache,” said Augusta.

“Are you really ill, Augusta? I am sorry.”

“I am not ill, but I have a headache. I had bad dreams last night.”

“And you never got into bed at all.”

“I fell asleep, and my dreams were troublesome. I can’t get up yet. No, I won’t have any breakfast. I wish I hadn’t come; I don’t like this place.”

I knelt down by the bed and took her hand.

“You know that your mother and your uncle wouldn’t have made such an effort to send you here if they didn’t think it would be for your good,” I said. “Do try and like it.”

There was a new tone in my voice. I really felt sorry for her. She raised her head and fixed her dark eyes on my face.

“Do you think your father would like it?”

“I am sure he would, Augusta,” I said; and an idea flashed through my brain. I would write that very day to my step-mother and beg her to get my father to send Augusta a message. The slightest word from him would control her life; she would work hard at her French, her German, hard at manners, refinement – at everything – if only he would give her the clue. Surely my step-mother would manage it.

I flashed a bright glance at her now.

“I know that my father would like it. I’ll tell the Baroness you are not well and cannot come down this morning.”

“The Baroness? What did you say?” said Augusta.

“Our head-mistress; her name is Baroness von Gablestein.”

Augusta closed her eyes and shivered.

“To this we have sunk,” I heard her mutter, and then she turned her face to the wall.

A great bell, musical and dear, sounded all over the house.

“That is our summons,” I said. “Mademoiselle Wrex will meet us on the next landing, and I will come to you as soon as I can.”

I left the room.

“What’s the matter?” said Hermione.

“She says she has a headache, but I think she is mostly sulking,” I replied. “I am going to write to my step-mother; I think I know how to manage her.”

“Dumps, how bright you look – and how happy!” Yes, I was happy; I was feeling in my heart of hearts that I really meant to do my very best.

On the next landing we met Mademoiselle Wrex. See looked approvingly at us. I told her about Augusta, and she said she would see to the young lady, but in the meantime we must follow her downstairs. We went down and down. How airy and fresh, and I must say how cold also, the house felt! I had always imagined that French houses were warm. When we arrived on the ground étage we turned to our left and entered a very large room. Like all the other rooms in the house, it was bare of carpet. On a sort of dais at the top of the room there stood the Baroness von Gablestein. She was one of the handsomest and most distinguished-looking women I had ever seen. She was not young; she must have been between forty and fifty years of age. Her hair was dark by nature, but was now very much mixed with grey. She had dark and very thick eyebrows, and a broad and massive forehead. She wore her hair on a high cushion rolled back from her face. The rest of her features were regular and very clearly cut. Her lips were sweet but firm, and her eyes dark and very penetrating. But it was not her mere features, it was the clear, energetic, and yet joyous expression of her face which so captivated me that I, Dumps, stood perfectly still when I saw her, and did not move for the space of two or three seconds. I felt some one poke me in the back, and a voice in broken English said, “But stare not so. Go right forward.”

I turned, and saw a girl much shorter than myself, and much more podgy, who glanced at me, smiled, and pointed to a bench where I was to sit.

The Baroness read a few verses of Scripture in the French tongue, and then we all knelt down and a collect for the day was read, also in French, and then we were desired to join our different classes in the schoolroom. I stood still, and so did Hermione. The Baroness seemed to observe us for the first time, and raised her brows.

Mademoiselle Wrex came up and said something to her.

“Ah, yes,” I heard her say in very sweet, clear English. “The dear children! But certainly I will speak with them.”

She went down two or three steps and came to meet us.

“You are Rachel Grant,” she said. “Welcome to our school. – And you are Hermione Aldyce. Welcome to our school.”

She had a sort of regal manner; she bent and kissed me on the centre of my forehead, and she did the same to Hermione.

“I trust you will enjoy your life here. I trust you will in all respects be worthy of the reputation of our school; and I trust, also, that we shall do our utmost to make you happy and wise.”

She paused for a minute.

“My dear children,” she said then, “this is a very busy hour for me, and I will see you later; in the meantime I leave you in the care of Mademoiselle Wrex, who will take you to those teachers who will superintend your studies.”

I felt my cheeks growing very red. Hermione was cool and composed. We followed Mademoiselle Wrex through several rooms into the schoolroom, and there we were examined by a German lady, who put us in a very low form as regarded that language. We were next questioned by a French mademoiselle, who did likewise; but an English lady, with a matter-of-fact and very quiet face, rescued us from the ignominious position in which we found ourselves with regard to German and French by discovering that our attainments in our mother-tongue were by no means contemptible.

In the end we found, so to speak, our level, and our school life began right merrily.

Late that evening I found time to write a few words to my step-mother.

“I will tell you all about the school later on,” I began. “At present I feel topsy-turvy and whirly-whirly; I don’t know where I am, nor what has happened to me. I dare say I shall like it very much, but I will keep my long letter for Sunday; we have all the time we want for ourselves on Sunday; no one interferes, and we are allowed to talk in our own tongue – that is, if we wish to do so. What I am specially writing to you about now is Augusta. She is taking the change in her circumstances very badly, I must say, my dear step-mother; she is not reconciled. She would not get up this morning, nor would she undress last night. She pleads a headache, and will not eat. But, at the same time, Mademoiselle Wrex, who has the charge of our department, cannot find anything special the matter with her. I think it is a case of homesickness, but not the ordinary sort, for she is certainly not pining for her mother. It really is a case of grieving because she cannot attend my father’s lectures. She does think a great deal of him, and seems to have set her whole life by his example. Now, if you could get him to send her the tiniest little note, just the merest line, to say he hopes she will do well and like her French and German – oh, anything will do – she will do her duty and will be as happy as the day is long. You are so clever, I know you can manage it. I haven’t time for another word. – Your affectionate step-daughter, Rachel Grant.”

Part 2, Chapter X
The Professor’s Letter

I cannot give all the particulars with regard to my life at the school, which was called Villa Bella Vista, although I cannot tell why; perhaps because from the upper windows you could catch a glimpse of the Champs Élysées. Be that as it may, it was in some ways a Bella Vista for me, a very great change from my old life in the dark house near the ancient college, from poverty to luxury, from dullness to sunshine, from the commonplace school to one which was the best that it was possible for a school to be. The Baroness von Gablestein was a woman of great integrity of mind and great uprightness of bearing, and her strong personality she managed more or less to impress on all the girls. Of course, there were black sheep in this fold, as there must be black sheep in every fold; but Hermione and I soon found our niche, and made friends with some of the nicest girls. We liked our lessons; we took kindly to French and German; Italian would follow presently. French and German were now the order of the day. In short, we were contented.

We had not been a fortnight at the school Bella Vista before we began to feel that we had always lived there. Were we not part and parcel of the house? Were not its interests ours, the girls who lived there our friends, and the life we lived the only one worth living? We did not acknowledge to ourselves that we felt like this, but nevertheless we did.

As to Augusta – well, for the first few days she was as grumpy and unsociable as girl could be. Then there came a change over her, and I knew quite well what had caused it. The post was delivered in the evening, and there was a letter addressed to Augusta. She took it up languidly. She seemed to feel no interest whatever in anything. I watched her without daring to appear to do so. We were in our own little sitting-room at that time, and Rosalind Mayhew was having supper with us. This treat was always allowed on Saturday evenings. The girls could ask one another to have supper, only giving directions downstairs with regard to the transference of the food to the different rooms. Rosalind was our guest on this occasion.

Augusta laid her letter by her plate; she put one hand on the table, and presently took up the letter and glanced at it again. I did not dare to say, “Won’t you read it?” for had I done so that would have provoked her into putting it into her pocket, and not glancing at it perhaps until the following morning, or goodness knows when. So, glancing at Hermione, I proposed that those who had finished supper should go and stand on the balcony for a little. We all went except Augusta, who remained behind. I kept one ear listening while I chatted with my companions. It seemed to me that I certainly did hear the rustle of paper – the sort of rustle that somewhat stiff paper would make when it is taken out of its envelope. Then there was utter stillness, and afterwards a wild rush and a door slammed. I looked into the sitting-room. It was empty.

“She has read it, has she not?” said Hermione.

“Oh, hush, hush!” I whispered. “Don’t say a word.”

“Are you talking about that queer, half-mad girl?” said Rosalind.

“Oh, I’m sure she will be all right in the future,” I said.

Rosalind changed the conversation to something else.

“By the way, Dumps, Comtesse Riki has taken a most violent fancy to you.”

“What! to me?” I asked.

“Yes; and the Baroness Elfreda to Hermione.”

Now, Comtesse Riki was a very delicately made, exquisitely pretty girl, of the fairest German type. Elfreda, on the contrary, was short and exceedingly fat, with a perfectly square face, high cheek-bones, and a quantity of hay-coloured hair which she wore in two very tight plaits strained back from her face.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“They’re both awfully nice; don’t you think so?” said Rosalind.

“I have scarcely given them a thought,” I answered.

My mind was still dwelling on the letter which Augusta had received. Presently Rosalind left us, and Hermione and I wondered what the result would be.

“Go to her door and knock, and see if she will come out and tell us; won’t you, Dumps?” said Hermione.

I did go and knock.

“Yes, dear?” said Augusta’s voice. It was quite bright and absolutely changed.

“Aren’t you coming out to stand on the balcony a little, and to chat? Do come, please.”

“Not to-night, dear; I am very busy.”

Still that new, wonderful, exceedingly cheerful voice.

“The spell has worked,” I said to Hermione when I returned to her.

We neither of us saw Augusta again until the next morning, and then there was a marvellous change in her. She did not tell us what had caused it. To begin with, she was neatly dressed; to follow, she ate an excellent breakfast; and again, wonder of wonders! she applied herself with extreme and passionate diligence to her French and German lessons. She looked up when her mistress spoke; she no longer indulged in silence broken only by rhapsodies of passionate snatches of verse from her favourite authors. She was altogether a changed Augusta. I did not say a word to her on the subject, and I cautioned Hermione not to breathe what I had done.

“If she thinks father has written to her on his own account the spell will work, and she will be saved,” I said.

It was not until a fortnight later that Augusta said to me in a very gentle tone, “I see daylight. How very naughty I was when I first came! How badly I did behave! But now a guiding hand has been stretched out, and I know what I am expected to do.”

I jumped up and kissed her.

“I am glad,” I said.

“You cannot be as glad as I am,” she answered; and she took both my hands in one of hers and looked into my face, while tears rose to her bright, rather sunken eyes. “To think that he should take the trouble to write!”

I ran away. I did not want to be unkind, and truly did not mean to; but Augusta’s manner, notwithstanding the reform in her character, was almost past bearing.

“Poor, dear old father!” I said afterwards to Hermione, “he can little realise what a fearful responsibility he has in life – the whole of Augusta’s future – and just because he is a clever lecturer. I really cannot understand it.”

“Nor I,” said Hermione. “I myself think his speeches are rather dull; but I suppose I have a different order of mind.”

I remember quite well that on that occasion we girls were permitted to go for a delightful walk into the Bois de Boulogne. We went, of course, with some of the governesses; but when we got there we were allowed a certain amount of freedom – for instance, we could choose our own companions and walk with whom we pleased. We were just leaving the house on this occasion when Comtesse Riki came up to me and asked if I would walk with her. I acceded at once, although I had hoped for a long walk with Hermione, as I had received a budget of home news on that day, and I wanted to talk it over with her; last, but not least, there had come a voluminous letter from Lilian St. Leger. It was a little provoking, but Riki’s very pretty blue eyes, her pathetic mouth, and sweet smile conquered. At the same instant Baroness Elfreda flew up to Hermione and tucked her podgy hand inside the girl’s arm.

“I couldn’t walk with you, Dumps,” she said, “for a dumpy girl couldn’t walk with another dumpy girl – so I want to be your friend, a sweet, slight, graceful English girl.”

Hermione consented with what patience she could, and we started off on our walk. While we were in the town we had, of course, to walk two by two; but presently, in a special and rather retired part of the gardens, the governesses were less particular, and each couple was allowed to keep a little away from the other.

“Now, that’s a comfort,” said Riki. “I have so much I want to ask you.”

“What about?” I said.

“About your so delightful English ways. You have much of the freedom, have you not?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“Oh, but you must! Think now; no girl here, nor in my country, nor in any other, I think, on the Continent, would be allowed to go about unattended – not at least before her marriage.”

“But,” I answered, “we don’t think about getting married at all in England – I mean girls of my age.”

“If you don’t think it impertinent, would you tell me what your age may be?”

I said I should be sixteen in May.

“But surely you will think of your marriage within about a year or two, will you not?”

I laughed.

“What are you talking about?” I said. “Really, Comtesse, I cannot understand you.”

“Fray don’t call me that; call me Riki. I like you so very much; you are different from others.”

“Every one tells me that,” I answered, a little bitterness in my tone.

“You have the goodness within – you perhaps have not the beauty without; but what does that matter when goodness within is more valuable? It is but to look at you to know that you have got that.”

“If you were really to see into my heart, Riki, you would perceive that I am an exceedingly selfish and very ungrateful girl.”

“Oh dear!” said the Comtesse Riki, “what is it to be what you call ungrateful?”

“Not to be thankful for the blessings that are given you,” I made answer.

She glanced at me in a puzzled way.

“Some day, perhaps,” I said, “you will visit our England and see for yourself what the life is like.”

“I should like it,” she replied – “that is, after my nuptials.”

“But you are only a child yourself.”

“Not a child – I am sixteen; I shall be seventeen in a year; then I shall leave school and go home, and – and – ”

“Begin your fun,” I said.

“Oh no,” she answered – “not exactly. I may go to a few of the dances and take a tour (dance) with the young men – I should, of course, have many partners; but what is that? Then I shall become affianced, and my betrothal will be a very great event; and afterwards there will be my trousseau, and the preparing for my home, and then my marriage with the husband whom my parents have chosen for me.”

“And you look forward to that?” I said.

“Of course; what else does any girl look forward to?”

I could not speak at all for a minute; then I said, “I am truly thankful I am not a German.”

She smiled.

“If we,” she said slowly, “have one thing to be more – what you call grateful for – than another, it is that we don’t belong to your so strange country of England. Your coldness, and your long time of remaining without your dot and your betrothal and your so nécessaire husband, is too terrible for any girl in the Fatherland even to contemplate the pain.”

“Oh!” I said, feeling quite angry, “we pity you. You see, Comtesse, you and I can never agree.”

She smiled and shook her little head.

“But what would you do,” she said a few minutes afterwards, “if these things were not arranged? You might reach, say, twenty, or even twenty-one or twenty-two, and – ”

“Well, suppose I did reach twenty-one or twenty-two; surely those years are not so awful?”

“But to be unbetrothed at twenty-one or twenty-two,” she continued. “Why, do you not know that at twenty-five a girl – why, she is lost.”