They still thought I was a little girl. They PATRONIZED me. I would
hardly have been surprised If they had sent up a bread and milk supper
on a tray. It was then and there that I made up my mind to show them
that I was no longer a mere child. That the time was gone when they
could shut me up in the nursery and forget me. I was seventeen years and
eleven days old, and Juliet, in Shakspeare, was only sixteen when she
had her well-known affair with Romeo.

I had no plan then. It was not until the next afternoon that the thing
sprung (sprang?) full-pannoplied from the head of Jove.

The evening was rather dreary. The family was going out, but not until
nine thirty, and mother and Leila went over my clothes. They sat, Sis
in pink chiffon and mother in black and silver, and Hannah took out my
things and held them up. I was obliged to silently sit by, while my rags
and misery were exposed.

"Why this open humiliation?" I demanded at last. "I am the family
Cinderella, I admit it. But it isn't necessary to lay so much emphacis
on it, is it?"

"Don't be sarcastic, Barbara," said mother. "You are still only a Child,
and a very untidy Child at that. What do you do with your elbows to rub
them through so? It must have taken patience and aplication."

"Mother" I said, "am I to have the party dresses?"

"Two. Very simple."

"Low in the neck?"