"Good heavens, Barbara," Sis said, while I hugged father, "you certainly

need to be pressed."

"I daresay I'll be the better for a hot iron," I retorted, "but at least

I shan't need it on my hair." My hair is curly while hers is straight.

"Boarding school wit!" she said, and stocked to the motor.

Mother was in the car and glad to see me, but as usual she managed to

restrain her enthusiasm. She put her hands over some Orkids she was

wearing when I kissed her. She and Sis were on their way to something or

other.

"Trimmed up like Easter hats, you two!" I said.

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"School has not changed you, I fear, Barbara," mother observed. "I hope

you are studying hard."

"Exactly as hard as I have to. No more, no less," I regret to

confess that I replied. And I saw Sis and mother exchange glances of

signifacance.

We dropped them at the Reception and father went to his office and I

went on home alone. And all at once I began to be embittered. Sis had

everything, and what had I? And when I got home, and saw that Sis had

had her room done over, and ivory toilet things on her dressing table,

and two perfectly huge boxes of candy on a stand and a Ball Gown laid

out on the bed, I almost wept.

My own room was just as I had left it. It had been the night nursery,

and there was still the dent in the mantel where I had thrown a hair

brush at Sis, and the ink spot on the carpet at the foot of the bed, and

everything.

Mademoiselle had gone, and Hannah, mother's maid, came to help me off

with my things. I slammed the door in her face, and sat down on the bed

and RAGED.

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.




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