Frances went on dramatically. "The house with the card was the
dearest thing, all cream-color and green, with a pink rambler rose
perfectly enormous, growing 'way up to the eaves, and a rough roof
of red tiles and steep gables. The windows were that dinky kind
that open outward and had little bits of panes. Everything was
clean as clean, the steps and the curtains and the glass. While we
were looking, the door opened and a girl came out. She was about
my age, Mother, but _so_ pretty, with gray eyes and yellow hair
and _such_ a complexion. I'd give anything to look like her."

Frances shook her head with disapproval over her own brown hair
and eyes. To be sure the one was curly and the others straightforward
and earnest, while her gipsy little face and figure were considered
attractive by most people and by those who loved her, very satisfactory
indeed.

"Well, this girl came out and we sort of smiled at each other and
I asked if that card meant that there were rooms to let. I told
her you were seasick, and at the hotel, and my brother and I saw
the card and we were looking for lodgings and all the rest, you
know. She said yes, there were rooms and she'd call Sister.

"Sister came and she was a love, tall and sweet and just
beautiful, only she looked sad and wore a black dress. The younger
girl went away but Sister showed us the rooms and they are just
what we'd like, I'm sure. There wasn't any messy wool stuff nor
ugly vases,--I forgot to mention that in the other place there
were eight pair of vases on the mantel, truly, for Roger counted
them. These rooms were clean and rather bare, with painted floors
and washable rugs and fresh curtains and flowers, just one vase in