really is and hasn't had very much.

We both laughed as I slipped the quaint old dress over my head and
buttoned the low-necked waist, with its short puffy-sleeves, straight
down the front. It had such a style of its own and fitted me so that I
began to prance in front of the long mirror in the living room, which
is gilt, a hundred years old, and belonged to the stiff grandmother
over the mantel who had probably pranced in the same gown in the same
way fifty years ago, if her heart was as young and happy as mine.

And those were the trying circumstances under which I met the Idol. He
stood there in the doorway and laughed until his big shoulders shook,
and his wonderful eyes danced like sparks. I blushed so painfully that
it felt like measles; but when he saw my embarrassment break out on me
like that, a wonderful sad kindness came into his eyes and he stopped
laughing.

"It's Miss Phyllis Forsythe, isn't it, that I have come home to find
masquerading as my own grandmother?" he said, in a warm voice so like
Roxanne's that the scarlatina on my face began to subside and my knees
stopped trembling. "You don't know how indebted to you I am for coming
over to make Roxy take a playtime."

Playtime, with all that pattern and darned aprons and my gingham dress
in a pile on the ancestral sofa in the corner with the scissors and
needle and thread gaping at Roxanne and me from the table! Women ought
to be very thankful at times for men's stupidity.

It was all very well for the red on my face to pale and my breath to
come easier again; but no fifteen-year-old girl has an answer ready