"Tell me one of them, right now," said Octavia, point-blank.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Lucia, starting. "I'd rather not—just now."
"Well," commented Octavia, "that sounds as if they must be pretty unpleasant. Why don't you want to? They will be quite as bad to-morrow. And to refuse to tell me one is a bad beginning. It looks as if you were frightened; and it isn't good practice for you to be frightened at such a little thing."
Lucia felt convicted. She made an effort to regain her composure.
"No, it is not," she said. "But that is always the way. I am continually telling myself that I will be courageous and candid; and, the first time any thing happens, I fail. I will tell you one thing."
She stopped short here, and looked at Octavia guiltily.
"It is something—I think I would do if—if I were in your place," Lucia stammered. "A very little thing indeed."
"Well?" remarked Octavia anxiously.
Lucia lost her breath, caught it again, and proceeded cautiously, and with blushes at her own daring.
"If I were in your place," she said, "I think—that, perhaps—only perhaps, you know—I would not wear—my hair—quite so low down—over my forehead."