wouldn't
have. So it is your unselfishness we have to thank for it all, Mother
dear."

The Revolt of Mary Isabel

"For a woman of forty, Mary Isabel, you have the least sense of any
person I have ever known," said Louisa Irving.

Louisa had said something similar in spirit to Mary Isabel almost
every day of her life. Mary Isabel had never resented it, even when it
hurt her bitterly. Everybody in Latimer knew that Louisa Irving ruled
her meek little sister with a rod of iron and wondered why Mary Isabel
never rebelled. It simply never occurred to Mary Isabel to do so; all
her life she had given in to Louisa and the thought of refusing
obedience to her sister's Mede-and-Persian decrees never crossed her
mind. Mary Isabel had only one secret from Louisa and she lived in
daily dread that Louisa would discover it. It was a very harmless
little secret, but Mary Isabel felt rightly sure that Louisa would not
tolerate it for a moment.

They were sitting together in the dim living room of their quaint old
cottage down by the shore. The window was open and the sea-breeze blew
in, stirring the prim white curtains fitfully, and ruffling the little
rings of dark hair on Mary Isabel's forehead--rings which always
annoyed Louisa. She thought Mary Isabel ought to brush them straight
back, and Mary Isabel did so faithfully a dozen times a day; and in
ten minutes they crept down again, kinking defiance to Louisa, who
might make Mary Isabel submit to her in all things but had no power
over naturally curly hair. Louisa had never had any trouble with her
own hair; it was straight and sleek and mouse-coloured--what there was
of it.

Mary Isabel's face was flushed and her wood-brown eyes looked grieved
and pleading. Mary Isabel was still pretty, and vanity is the last
thing to desert a properly constructed woman.

"I can't wear a bonnet yet, Louisa," she protested. "Bonnets have gone
out for everybody except really old ladies. I want a hat: one of
those pretty, floppy ones with pale blue forget-me-nots."

Then it was that Louisa made the remark quoted above.

"I wore a bonnet before I was forty," she went on ruthlessly, "and so
should every decent woman. It is absurd to be thinking so much of
dress at your age, Mary Isabel. I don't know what sort of a way you'd
bedizen yourself out if I'd let you, I'm sure. It's fortunate you have
somebody to keep you from making a fool of yourself. I'm going to town
tomorrow and I'll pick