"Are we really allowed to?" asked someone, hesitatingly, a stranger to the privileges.
"In reason, yes. It would be most unkind and ill-bred to strip the vines and offer them for sale in the public market. I hope none of you have been seized with that intention. There are some more prisoners of hope," as another stage stopped.
"Why prisoners? Do they not come of their own accord," asked Helen.
"Oh, Miss Grant, they generally come of their fathers' and mothers' accord the first time. Did you really sigh to come?"
"I wanted to, yes;" in an eager tone.
"Depraved taste."
Helen looked surprised. That everyone of any intelligence should not long for an education amazed her. And these bright, pretty girls who must have congenial surroundings seemed the very ones to appreciate it.
They were still jesting when the luncheon bell rang. One new table was filled and some vacant spaces in several others. It was beginning to look like quite a family. But Helen had the feeling of being a guest at a hotel, just as she had been all the week. They dispersed to their rooms, and Helen tried to read a little, but the words were mixed up with French and music. She would like the music she knew. She listened to the sound of the piano on the floor below, and her whole soul responded to the melody. Had anyone ever been so blest before? It was like a fairy story.
"Well," exclaimed Miss Mays an hour or so later, looking in at the door, "have you a mind ready for a walk, to see the town. For I doubt if otherwise you can be introduced to it before next Saturday."
"Oh, yes," springing up with energy. "I begin to think strange places are—" she cast about for a word—"fascinating."