"They are terribly common people," said Fanny, her aristocratic nose
well in the air, "aren't they, Mamma? And did you ever see such a
clumsy thing as that dreadful boy, and such big hands and feet?" She
held up her own hands as she spoke, and played with her rings, and let
the jingling bracelets run up and down her wrists.

"Fanny, how often must I tell you to wear gloves on shipboard?" said
her mother, in a tone of reproof. "Nothing spoils the hands so much as
a trip at sea. They won't get over it all summer; they're coarsened
already," and she cast an alarmed glance at the long, slender fingers.

"I'm so tired of gloves, Mamma." Fanny gave a restful yawn. "Polly
Pepper doesn't wear them," she cried triumphantly, peering past her
mother to point to Polly's hands.

Mrs. Vanderburgh hesitated. It wouldn't do to say anything that would
reflect against the Peppers--manners, or customs, or bringing up
generally. So she leaned over and touched Polly's fingers with her own
gloved ones.

"You don't wear gloves, do you, my dear?" she said, in gentle surprise,
quite as if the idea had just struck her for the first time.

"No, Mrs. Vanderburgh, I don't," said Polly, "at least not on
shipboard, unless it is cold."

"There, now, Mamma," laughed Fanny, in a pleased way; "you'll stop
teasing me about wearing them, I'm sure."

Mrs. Vanderburgh turned and surveyed her daughter; but she didn't