"Don't pretend that you don't want to hear that Nannie Rheid has put herself through," began Miss Prudence in a lively voice, "crammed to the last degree, and has been graduated a year in advance of time that she may be married this month. Her father was inexorable, she must be graduated first, and she has done it at seventeen, so he has had to redeem his promise and allow her to be married. Her 'composition'—that is the old-fashioned name—was published in one of the literary weeklies, and they all congratulate themselves and each other over her success. But her eyes are big, and she looks as delicate as a wax lily; she is all nerves, and she laughs and talks as though she could not stop herself. What do you think of her as a school girl triumph?"
"It isn't tempting. I like myself better. I want to be slow. Miss
Prudence, I don't want to hurry anything."
"I approve of you, Marjorie. Now what is this little girl thinking about?"
"Is that your mamma up there?"
"Yes."
"She looks like you."
"Yes, I am like her; but there is no white in her hair. It is all black,
Prue."
"I like white in hair for old ladies."
Marjorie laughed and Miss Prudence smiled. She was glad that being called "an old lady" could strike somebody as comical.
"Was papa in this room a good many times?"