Colorado. He isn't
living, now. Are your father and mother living?"

"My mother is," said Cornelia; the words brought up a vision of her
mother, as she must be sitting that moment in the little front-room,
and a mist came suddenly before her eyes; she shut her lips hard to
keep them from trembling.

"I see, you worship her," said Miss Maybough fervidly, keeping her gaze
fixed upon Cornelia. "You are homesick!"

"I'm _not_ homesick!" said Cornelia, angry that she should be so and
that she should be denying it.

"Mine," said the other, "died while I was a baby. She had Indian
blood," she added in the same way in which she had said her name was
Charmian.

"_Did_ she?" Cornelia asked.

"That is the legend," said Miss Maybough solemnly. "Her grandmother was
a Zuni princess." She turned her profile. "See?"

"It does look a little Indian," said Cornelia.

"Some people think it's Egyptian," Miss Maybough suggested, as if she
had been leading up to the notion, and were anxious not to have it
ignored.

Cornelia examined the profile steadily presented, more carefully: "It's
a good deal more Egyptian."

Miss Maybough relieved her profile from duty, and continued, "We've
been everywhere. Paris two years. That's where I took up art in dead
earnest; Julian, you know. Mamma didn't want me to; she wanted me to go
into society there; and she does here; but I hate it. Don't you think
society is very frivolous, or, any way, very stupid?"

"I don't know much about it. I never went out, much," said Cornelia.

"Well, I hope you're not conventional! Nobody's conventional _here_."

"I don't believe I'm conventional enough to hurt," said Cornelia.

"You have humor, too," said Miss Maybough, thoughtfully, as if she had
been mentally cataloguing her characteristics. "_You'll_ be popular."

Cornelia stared at her and turned to her drawing.

"But you're proud," said the other, "I can see that. I adore pride. It
must have been your pride that fascinated me at the first glance. Do
you mind my being fascinated with you?"

Cornelia wanted to laugh; at the same time she wondered what new kind
of crazy person she had got with; this was hardly one of the
art-students that went wild from overwork. Miss Maybough kept on
without waiting to be answered: "I haven't got a bit of pride, myself.
I could just let you walk over me. How does it feel to be proud? What
are you proud _for_?"

Cornelia quieted a first impulse to resent this pursui