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Rh wyn explained it to me. And since he was to be here but a few days, and Washington was indulging in one of its spring blows, so that it was not gypsy weather, I had no reasonable ground of complaint.

But before he retired to his native haunts he asked permission to bring up a friend of his—a Mr. Smith. Now, it seems to me that just there Ethelwyn was a trifle weak. Mr. Smith lives in Washington. She might have foreseen results, though she assures me most solemnly that she couldn't possibly have imagined them—how could she? And then a little grieved droop creeps about the comer of her mouth, and "If I'm going to bother you, Cousin Persis, and spoil all your lovely spring-time, I'd better go home right away."

Naturally, that always reduces me to submission. One doesn't care to pose as an ogre, especially with a bit of coaxing pink-and-white-and- [sic]red girlhood. I know that I am being wheedled; I can see it in Mrs. Bassett's eyes and Minerva's and Roger's, but I just go right on—and so does Ethelwyn. I am a bit revenged that Roger's attitude piques her. He watches her with the patronizing amusement of a big dog towards a young and frolicsome puppy. She seems so much younger—I can see—to him than to me. I wonder if there is ever a happy woman who does not, at times, when nobody is watching, slip away to her securest place of treasures and try on her outgrown girlhood, and smile to see how well she still can wear it! There have been days and days when I could be as joyously inconsequent as Ethelwyn—only, of course, I never let anybody guess it; people would say that I was trying to keep young. Trying! As if, if one's heart is gray and wrinkled, the wisest skill could avail to hide it! If one isn't young without any trying, all the effort in the world will never bring one a single step nearer to the desirable goal. Youth is a gift, not an attainment. More people than we realize are born old and stay old forever after.

Ethelwyn, upon the other hand, was born young; she will be just as young at eighty, if she knows the world so long, as she is at twenty-one. I could shake Roger for not understanding this, yet at the same time I am amused at Ethelwyn's resentment. Somehow, to be looked upon as a pretty and promising child does not appeal to her in the least. She retaliates by always addressing him as "Mr. Roger," which calls up an inevitable vision of gray hair and spectacles and slippers, and never fails to make him squirm inwardly.

Aside from the interruptions of Mr. Hawkins, which are ended, and those of Mr. Smith, which I fear are not, the weeks have been full of pleasure. We have been doing sight-seeing—some, but not too much. If a a delight even to go sight-seeing with Ethelwyn (an opinion which I share with Mr. Smith), she has such impetuous, wren-like bursts of enthusiasm over such unexpected things. This was particularly notice-