"Pretty wide margin," laughed Rhodora. "And how old is Lad?"

"Fifteen."

"I've had the bad luck to be stuck off with old people all the while
lately," remarked Rhodora. She looked at me as she spoke. I wondered if
she considered me "old people." Then she glanced at the Gay Lady.

"How old is she?" she inquired.

"I have never asked her."

"Looks like a girl, but I guess she isn't. A real girl would never
settle down like that to talk to an old lady like Grandmother," she
observed sagely.

I opened my lips--and closed them. I had known Miss Rhodora only about
ten minutes, and one does not make caustic speeches to one's guests--if
one can help it. But one does take observations upon them. I was taking
observations upon Rhodora.

She was decidedly a handsome girl--handsome seems the word. She was
rather large, well-proportioned, blooming in colour, with somewhat
strikingly modeled features. She wore sleeves to her elbows, and her
arms were round and firm. She sat in a nonchalant attitude in which her
arms were considerably in evidence.

"Rhodora," said Grandmother, turning to look our way, "did I bring my
little black silk bag from the carriage?"