"I am horribly sick of dress!"
"Oh, miss!" remarked Morris, raising her placid face to mine, for she was on her knees by this time, unfastening my largest trunk, "I did think that young ladies lived for their dress."
"Well, I am not one of those young ladies," was my reply. "I never thought of dress until a few weeks ago. I used to put on the dress I was to wear when I first got up in the morning, and I never thought of it again until I took it off to go to bed."
"You must have lived in a very quiet way, miss."
"I lived in a sensible way," I replied.
"I should not like it for myself, miss."
"Perhaps not, perhaps you are vain—I can't bear vain people."
The girl coloured, and bent again over the trunk. I rested my elbows on my knees, pressed my hands against my cheeks, and stared at her.
"I don't wish to offend you, Morris," I said; "I want us two to be friends."
"Thank you, miss."