embarrassed when with strangers, and to be able to think of something to
say to them. But she never could. Nothing that she had to say seemed
interesting or worth saying. Betty, with her self-confidence and fluent
tongue, was a constant source of admiration to Kitty.

"You will get on all right," she said, with another sigh; "but I was
never meant to go where there are other people."

"That is why you've got to go. It is good for you; I heard Aunt Pike
saying so to father. She said you were growing up shy and _gauche_.
I don't know what _gauche_ means; do you?"

"No," said Kitty, colouring. "I expect I ought to, and I expect it is
something dreadful; but if I am happier so, why can't I go on being
_gauche_?"

"Father said you were very shy, but he didn't think you were the other
thing--_gauche_."

"Did he?" cried poor Kitty, brightening; but her face soon fell again.
"Father doesn't notice things as quickly as some people do--Aunt Pike,
and Lady Kitson, and others; and I expect they are right. It is always
the disagreeable people and the disagreeable things that are right.
Did Aunt Pike say the same thing of you?"

"No; she said I had too much--it was a long word--too much self--self--
oh, I know, confidence--self-confidence. I don't know what it means,
but I am sure I haven't got it; and if I have," wound up Betty
defiantly, "I _won't_ get cured of it. Do you know what it means,
Kitty?"