"What a cool, reposeful room, my dear," said Grandmother. She patted her
white curls in front of the mirror, which is an old-fashioned, oblong
one, in which two people cannot well see themselves at the same time.
Rhodora came up behind her, stooped to peer over her shoulder, and
seized upon the ivory comb which lay on the dressing-table. Her elbow,
as she ran the comb through her fluffy hair, struck Grandmother's
delicate shoulder. The old lady turned and regarded her granddaughter in
astonishment.

"Want the comb?" inquired Rhodora, having finished with it herself.

Rhodora went over to the washstand, and washed and splashed, and used
one of the towels and threw it back upon the rack so that it overhung
all the other fresh towels. Grandmother used one end of Rhodora's towel,
and carefully folded and put it in place, looking regretfully at its
rumpled condition. She took a clean pocket-handkerchief out of her bag.
Rhodora caught sight of it.

"Oh, Grandmother, have you got a spare handkerchief?" she cried. "I've
lost mine, I'm afraid."

Grandmother handed her the little square of fine linen, exquisitely
embroidered with her own monogram, and took another and plainer one from
her bag.

"Try not to lose that one, Granddaughter," she said, in her gentle way.

Rhodora pushed it inside her sleeve. "Oh, I seldom lose two in one day,"
she assured the handkerchief's owner.