"Yes, I know you're human," said Mrs. Marshall, looking down at her
gravely. "So are we all of us. So's Elliott. Don't forget that." With
which obscure reference, entirely unintelligible to the two girls, the
matter was forever dropped.

The two ladies thereupon embarked upon the difficult business of
laying out to the best advantage the few days before them so that
every hour might be utilized for the twofold purpose of seeing each
other and having the girls see the sights. Judith went to the window
during this conversation, and looked down into the crowded street, the
first city street she had ever seen. Sylvia sat quietly and imprinted
upon her memory every item in the appearance of the two women before
her, not the first time she had compared them. Mrs. Marshall was
dressed in a dark-blue, well-preserved, ready-made suit, dating from
the year before. It was in perfect condition and quite near enough
the style of the moment to pass unnoticed. Sylvia saw nothing to be
ashamed of in her mother's unaccented and neutral costume, but there
was no denying that she looked exactly like any one else. What was
most apparent to the discerning eye was that her garb had been
organized in every detail so as to consume as little thought and
effort as possible. Whereas Aunt Victoria--Sylvia's earnest and
thoughtful efforts at home-dressmaking had fitted her, if for nothing
else, for a full appreciation of Mrs. Marshall-Smith's costume. She
had struggled with cloth enough to bow her head in respect and awe
before the masterly tailoring of the rich, smooth broadcloth dress.
She knew from her own experience that the perfection of those welted
seams could not be accomplished by even the most intense temporary
concentration of amateur forces. No such trifling fire of twigs
lighted the way to that pinnacle. The workman who had achieved that
skill had cut down the whole tree of his life and thrown it into the
flame.

Like a self-taught fiddler at the concert of a master, Sylvia's
failures had taught her the meaning of success. Although her
inexperience kept her from making at all a close estimate of the
literal cost of the toilet, her shrewdness made her divine the truth,
which was that Mrs. Marshall-Smith, in spite of the plainness of her
attire, could have clad herself in cloth-of-gold at a scarcely greater
expenditure of the efforts and lives of others. Sylvia felt that her
aunt was the most entirely enviable person in the world, and