ot notice it. She had turned from the subject of the Rhetts
and their automobiles to Charleston society in general.

"Now that you've come," said she, "you will find there's not a moment you
won't enjoy yourself if you're fond of gadding about. All the society here
is in the hands of young people, balls and parties! The St. Cecilias give
three balls a year. I go always, not to dance but to look on. Richard is a
St. Cecilia--St. Cecilias? Why, it's just a club a hundred-and-forty years
old. There are two hundred of them, all men, and they know how to
entertain. I have been at every ball for the last half century. Not one
have I missed. Then there's the yacht club and picnics to Summerville and
the Isle of Palms, and bathing parties and boating by moonlight. If you
are a gad-about you will enjoy all that."

"But I'm not," said Phyl. "I've never been used to society, much. I like
books better than people, unless they're--"

"Unless they're what?"

"Well--people I really like."

"Well," said Miss Pinckney, "one wouldn't expect you to like people you
_didn't_ like--there's no 'really' in liking, it's one thing or the
other--you don't care for girls, maybe?"

"I haven't seen much of them," replied Phyl, "except at school, and that
was only for a short time. I--I ran away."

"Ran away! And why did you run away?"

"I was miserable; they were kind enough to me, but I wanted to get
home--Father was alive then--I felt I had to get home or die--I can't
explain it--It felt like a sort of madness. I had to get back home."

Miss Pinckney was watching the girl, she scarcely seemed listening to
her--Then she spoke:

"Impulsive. If I wasn't sitting here in broad daylight, I'd fancy it was
Juliet Mascarene. What makes you so like her? It's not the face so much,
though the family likeness runs strong, still, the face is different,
though like--It's just you yourself--well, I'm sure I don't know, seems to
me there's a lot of things hid from us. Look at the Pringles, Anthony's
family, the ones that live in Tradd Street. If you put their noses
together, they'd reach to Legare Street. It runs in the family. Julian
Pringle, he died in '70, he was just the same. Now why should a long nose
run through a family like that, or a bad temper, or the colour of hair? I
don't know. The world's a puzzle and the older one grows, the more it
puzzles one."

After dinner, Miss Pinckney ordered Phyl to put on her hat and they
started out for a dri