"I have just been staying with a woman who had had both feet cut off by a train," said Miss Fox, tranquilly. "She was not fanciful."
It was a relief when the tea came. Margaret did the honors, still feeling very shy, she could not tell why, before this grave person, who could not be more than a year or two older than herself.
"Have you come far to-day, Miss Fox?" she asked, for the sake of saying something. The stranger put her head on one side, and gave her a quaint look. "Any addition to one's personal menagerie is always interesting," she said; "but one has one's favorites in the Zoo. If it is not taking a liberty—why Fox?"
Margaret started, and blushed violently. "I beg your pardon," she said. "Mrs. Peyton was not sure—she could not remember—is it Miss Wolfe, then? I hope you will forgive me, Miss Wolfe!"
"Please don't," said Miss Wolfe. She smiled for the first time, and Margaret thought she had never seen so sweet a smile. "It is not your fault that I am philologically quadruped, surely. So long as I am not called Zebra, I really don't mind. I always associate Zebra with Zany, don't you know? they were in my Alphabet together. But you were saying something which I was rude enough to interrupt."
"I only asked if you had come far."
"Not very far, if you put it in miles; only from New York; if you mean by impressions, a thousand leagues. It is at least that from that maelstrom to this quiet green place. How should one have nerves in a place like this? To sit here in peace and turn slowly into a lettuce—that would be the natural thing; but life is not natural, if you have observed."
Margaret laughed. "Mrs. Peyton is certainly not in the least like a lettuce; I don't know whether you see any signs of the change in me; I have only been here two years, though."
Miss Wolfe surveyed her critically. "N—no!" she said, slowly. "I see nothing indicating lettuce—as yet. You are cool and green—no offence, I hope! I pay you one of the highest compliments I know of when I call you green; it is the color of rest and harmony; cool and green enough, and pleasantly wavy in your lines, but you have too much expression as yet, far too much. Placidity—absence of emotion—that is what superinduces the lettuce habit." She waved her hand gracefully, and seemed to fall into a reverie. Margaret surveyed her in growing wonder.
At this moment Mrs. Peyton's bell rang violently; and presently a maid appeared to say that her mistress was feeling better, and would see the lady now. Miss Wolfe rose and glanced significantly at Margaret. "Curiosity overcomes distaste!" she said. "Are you coming?"