"Then you knew the Fabians there."
"Yes, a little. In two weeks one doesn't make much headway with a girl like Kathleen."
"Is she difficult for a girl, too?" asked Phil.
"Oh, yes—at least for a new girl. She reminds me of a series of locked doors. You succeed in unlocking one, and the small room within merely leads to another door. You must strive to unlock that, and you succeed only to find another waiting. Such wholesome, clean, airy rooms, but small—always small. She is fascinating to me, perhaps for that very reason. Did you ever notice that even her hair is reserved?"
Phil smiled, as his busy hand worked. "Christmas night is the only time I ever saw her with her hat off," he answered. "I'm afraid you're too subtle for me."
"Oh, you'll see," said Violet; "an artist couldn't help seeing in the daytime. What color do you think it is?"
"Dark brown."
"I knew you would say that. Wait till you see her in the sunshine. It's almost red; and that's just like her. Even her hair keeps everything to itself as long as it can."
Phil laughed. "Quite different from brother, eh?"