ga to the White Mountains;
and Preston's being with us made it a gay time. Preston had been for
two years at West Point; he was grown and improved everybody said; but
to me he was just the same. If anything, _not_ improved; the old grace
and graciousness of his manner was edged with an occasional hardness
or abruptness which did not use to belong to him, and which I did not
understand. There seemed to be a latent cause of irritation somewhere.

However, my summer went off smoothly enough. September brought me back
to Mme. Ricard's, and in view of Miss Cardigan's late roses and
budding chrysanthemums. I was not sorry. I had set my heart on doing
as much as could be done in these next two years, if two they must be.

I was the first in my room; but before the end of the day they all
came pouring in; the two older and the two younger girls. "Here's
somebody already," exclaimed Miss Macy as she saw me. "Why, Daisy
Randolph! is it possible that's you? Is it Daisy Randolph? What have
you done to yourself? How you _have_ improved!"

"She is very much improved," said Miss Bentley more soberly.

"She has been learning the fashions," said Miss Lansing, her bright
eyes dancing as good-humouredly as ever. "Daisy, now when your hair
gets long you'll look quite nice. That frock is made very well."

"She is changed," said Miss St. Clair, with a look I could not quite
make out.

"No," I said; "I hope I am not changed."

"Your dress is," said St. Clair.

I thought of Dr. Sandford's "_L'habit, c'est l'homme_". "My mother had
this dress made," I said; "and I ordered the other one; that is all
the difference."

"You're on the right side of the difference, then," said Miss St.
Clair.

"Has your mother come back, Daisy?" Miss Lansing asked.

"Not yet. She sent me this from Paris."

"It's very pretty!" she said, with, I saw, an increase of admiration;
but St. Clair gave me another strange look. "How much prettier Paris
things are than American!" Lansing went on. "I wish I could have all
my dresses from Paris. Why, Daisy, you've grown handsome."

"Nonsense!" said Miss Macy; "she always was, only you didn't see it."

"Style is more than a face," said Miss St. Clair cavalierly. Somehow I
felt that this little lady was not in a good mood awards me. I boded
mischief; for being nearly of an age, we were together in most of our
classes, studied the same things, and recited at the same times. There
was an opportunity for clashing.