"I don't understand myself."
Milly looked at her wonderingly. "I really don't. You are quite beyond me. If you were actually afraid of these people, which I don't for a moment think you are, one might begin to see what's at the back of your absurd mind."
"Why don't you think I'm afraid of them?" Mary in spite of herself was a little amused by the down-*rightness.
The question brought her right up against an eye of very honest admiration.
"Because, Miss Lawrence, it simply isn't in you to be afraid of anybody."
Princess Bedalia shook a rueful head. "You say that because you don't know all. I'm in a mortal funk of Bridport House."
"That I won't believe," said the robust Milly. "And if a fit of high-falutin' sentiment, for which you'll get not an ounce of credit, causes you to throw away your happiness, and turn your life into a sob-story, neither my mother nor I will ever forgive you, so there!"
"You seem to forget that I am the housekeeper's niece."
"As though it mattered." The pert nose twitched furiously. "As though it matters a row of little apples. You are yourself—your big and splendid self. Any man is lucky to get you."
But the large, long-lashed eyes were full of pain. "We look at things so differently. I can't explain what I mean or what I feel, but I want to see the whole thing, if I can, as others see it."
"We are the others—mother and I," said Milly,
