"You haven't quite hit it," she said, plaintively. "I was moving
gracefully _at_ the arms of another. Mamma had one of her periodical
attacks of rheumatism in both elbows and shoulders, and I had to rub
them for an hour with that horrid old liniment. I hope you didn't think
_that_ smelled like flowers. You know, there were some West Point boys
and a yacht load of young men from the city at last evening's weekly
dance. I've known mamma to sit by an open window for three hours with
one-half of her registering 85 degrees and the other half frostbitten,
and never sneeze once. But just let a bunch of ineligibles come around
where I am, and she'll begin to swell at the knuckles and shriek with
pain. And I have to take her to her room and rub her arms. To see mamma
dressed you'd be surprised to know the number of square inches of surface
there are to her arms. I think it must be delightful to be a hermit.
That--cassock--or gabardine, isn't it?--that you wear is so becoming.
Do you make it--or them--of course you must have changes--yourself? And
what a blessed relief it must be to wear sandals instead of shoes! Think
how we must suffer--no matter how small I buy my shoes they always pinch
my toes. Oh, why can't there be lady hermits, too!"

The beautifulest and most adolescent Trenholme sister extended
two slender blue ankles that ended in two enormous blue-silk
bows that almost concealed two fairy Oxfords, also of one of the
forty-seven shades of blue. The hermit, as if impelled by a kind of
reflex-telepathic action, drew his bare toes farther beneath his
gunny-sacking.

"I have heard about the romance of your life," said Miss Trenholme,
softly. "They have it printed on the back of the menu card at the inn.
Was she very beautiful and charming?"

"On the bills of fare!" muttered the hermit; "but what do I care for the
world's babble? Yes, she was of the highest and grandest type. Then,"
he continued, "_then_ I thought the world could never contain another
equal to her. So I forsook it and repaired to this mountain fastness
to spend the remainder of my life alone--to devote and dedicate my
remaining years to her memory."

"It's grand," said Miss Trenholme, "absolutely grand. I think a hermit's
life is the ideal one. No bill-collectors calling, no dressing for
dinner--how I'd like to be one! But there's no such luck for me. If I
don't marry this season I honestly believe mamma will force me into
settlement work or trimming ha