that she was talking to the only person on earth who really interested
her; "you are very beautiful, you know."

Vassie flushed with pleasure and did not trouble to deny the obvious
truth of the statement. She knew she was the only girl there with
undoubted beauty; what she did not know was that she was also the only
one who would never be very attractive to men. She looked at Phoebe's
retreating chin, at Judith's prominent cheek-bones and deep-set,
melancholy eyes with the bistre stains below them, at Blanche's
subtly-broad face with its too-small lips, and unconsciously she put up
her hand to feel her own lovely contours and smooth skin.

Blanche slipped a firm, cool hand into hers. "Don't worry, Vassie," she
said in a low voice; "I foresee great things for you. You're a wonderful
girl, my dear. Now, I suppose we ought to be helping those two poor,
dear men again." She rose to her feet with one of the lithe movements
that always seemed rather surprising in a girl of her firmly-knit build,
which would have been heavy had it not been for its grace. Vassie, with
a fulness that was so much more supple to a casual glance, yet followed
her less beautifully.

"Still, a lot can be done with her," thought Blanche, watching. She
motioned to her to come and help her with a row that had not yet been
gathered into a bundle, and Vassie stooped over it with her.

"Why, what's that?" exclaimed Blanche, catching sight of something grey
that went rustling swiftly downwards between the straws. She thrust her
hand down, thinking it was a field-mouse, and caught the thing. A
speckled toad wriggled in her fingers, lustily enough, but it was a toad
that had seen tragedy. The keen edge of a scythe must have caught it,