"I MUST be a young girl. I never had any girlhood
when I should have had. You know that."

Viola had married, when very young, a man old enough to be her father,
and her wedded life had been a sad affair, to which, however, she seldom
alluded. Viola had much pride with regard to the inevitable past.

"Yes," agreed Jane. Then she added, feeling that more might be
expected, "Of course I suppose that marrying so very young does make a
difference."

"Yes," said Viola, "it does. In fact, it makes of one's girlhood an
anti-climax, of which many dispute the wisdom, as you do. But have it I
will. Jane, your amethysts are beautiful."

Jane regarded the clear purple gleam of a stone on her arm. "Yes,"
she agreed, "Aunt Felicia's amethysts have always been considered very
beautiful."

"And such a full set," said Viola.

"Yes," said Jane. She colored a little, but Viola did not know why. At
the last moment Jane had decided not to wear the amethyst comb, because
it seemed to her altogether too decorative for a woman of her age, and
she was afraid to mention it to Viola. She was sure that Viola would
laugh at her and insist upon her wearing it.

"The ear-rings are lovely," said Viola. "My dear, I don't see how you
ever consented to have your ears pierced."

"I was very young, and my mother wished me to," replied Jane, blushing.

The door-bell rang. Viola had been covertly listening for it all the
time. Soon a very beautiful young man came with a curious dancing step
into the room. Harold Lind always gave the effect of dancing when he
walked. He always, moreover, gave the effect of extreme youth and of
the utmost joy and mirth in life itself. He regarded everything
and everybody with a smile as of humorous appreciation, and yet the
appreciation was so goodnatured that it offended nobody.

"Look at me--I am absurd and happy; look at yourself, also absurd
and happy; look at everybody else likewise; look at life--a jest so
delicious that it is quite worth one's while dying to be made acquainted
with it." That is what Harold Lind seemed to say. Viola Longstreet
became even more youthful under his gaze; even Jane Carew regretted that
she had not worn her amethyst comb and began to doubt its unsuitability.
Viola very soon called the young man's attention to Jane's amethysts,
and Jane always wondered why she did not then mention the comb. She
removed a brooch and a bracelet for him to inspect.

"They are really wonderful," he de