"But you've lived--in the world," she cried under her breath, puzzled.

A curious expression came into the young man's face. "That's exactly
what I have done," he said quietly. "In the world, not in the home. I've
not even _seen_ homes--like this one. The sight of brother and sisters
playing violin and harp and 'cello together, with the father and mother
and brother and uncle looking on, is absolutely so new to me that it has
a fascination I can't explain. I find myself continually watching you
all--if you'll forgive me--in your relations to each other. It's a new
interest," he admitted, smiling, "and I can't tell you what it means to
me."

She shook her head. "It sounds like a strange tale to me," said she,
"but I suppose it must be true. How much you have missed!"

"I'm just beginning to realize it. I never knew it till I began to come
here. I thought I was well enough off--it seems I'm pretty poor."

It was rather a strange speech for a young man of his class to make.
Possibly it indicated the existence of those "brains" with which his
grandfather had credited him.

"Well, Rob, do you think he had as dull a time as you said he would
have?"

The inquirer was Ruth. She stood, still in the corn-coloured frock, in
the doorway of her sister's room, from which her own opened. "Please
unhook me," she requested, approaching Roberta and turning her back
invitingly.