"Oh, because we are so poor; it's the cheapest way to live. We have tried having a cook, but the cook always steals. Mamma used to set me to watch her; that's the way I passed my jeunesse—my belle jeunesse. We are frightfully poor," the young girl went on, with the same strange frankness—a curious mixture of girlish grace and conscious cynicism. "Nous n'avons pas le sou. That's one of the reasons we don't go back to America; mamma says we can't afford to live there."
"Well, any one can see that you're an American girl," Miss Buck remarked, in a consolatory manner. "I can tell an American girl a mile off. You've got the American style."
"I'm afraid I haven't the American toilette," said Aurora, looking at the other's superior splendour.
"Well, your dress was cut in France; any one can see that."
"Yes," said Aurora, with a laugh, "my dress was cut in France—at Avranches."
"Well, you've got a lovely figure, any way," pursued her companion.
"Ah," said the young girl, "at Avranches, too, my figure was admired." And she looked at me
