and uncertain as to how she should make herself known. The sun flooding
the windows glinted on the bright hair of the girl at the piano; she was
very fair, and her features were clear-cut and regular. There was no
sound in the room but the crisp rustle of the leaves of music as the
girl tossed them about. Then as she flung aside the last sheet with an
exclamation of disappointment, Sylvia made herself known.

"I'm Sylvia Garrison," she said, advancing.

They gravely inspected each other for a moment; then Marian put out her
hand.

"I'm Marian Bassett. Aunt Sally told me you were coming."

Marian seated herself with the greatest composure and Sylvia noted her
white lawn gown and white half-shoes, and the bow of white ribbon at the
back of her head. Sylvia, in her blue serge, black ribbons, and high
shoes, felt the superiority of this radiant being. Marian took charge of
the conversation.

"I suppose you like to visit; I love it. I've visited a lot, and I'm
always coming to Aunt Sally's. I'm in Miss Waring's School, here in this
city, so I come to spend Sundays with Aunt Sally very often. Mama is
always coming to town to see how I'm getting on. She's terribly
ambitious for me, but I hate school, and I simply _cannot_ learn French.
Miss Waring is terribly severe; she says it's merely a lack of
application in my case; that I _could_ learn but won't. When mama comes
she takes me to luncheon at the Whitcomb and sometimes to the matinée.
We saw John Drew last winter: he's simply perfect--so refined and
gentlemanly; and I've seen Julia Marlowe twice; she's my favorite