Master of the Vineyard

"No," he returned, thoughtfully, "I don't believe there is any more like it, either. Your wish to be first in something is surely gratified, for there never was such hair as yours and never will be again."

Red Hair and Auburn

"Mother's was like it."

He shook his head. "No, it wasn't. I never saw your mother, but I know better than that."

"Ask your mother. There she is now."

Madame appeared at the head of the stairs, on the way to her room, to dress for luncheon. She paused to smile at the two who sat on the window-seat, then would have gone straight on had not Edith called to her.

"Mrs. Marsh! Isn't my hair exactly like my mother's?"

Madame came to her, turned the shining head a little more toward the sun, and patted the fluffiness caressingly. "No," she said, "though your mother had glorious hair, it was nothing like this. Hers was auburn and smooth, yours is reddish-gold--almost copper-coloured--and fluffy. Besides, you must have nearly twice as much of it."

"There," said Alden, "I told you so."

"But," persisted Edith, "if it's really copper-coloured, it's common. Look at the lady on the copper cent, for instance."

"The lady on the copper cent," returned Alden, "is a gentleman who wears feathers."

"But under his feathers he has hair the colour of this."

"He may not have any hair at all."

What's the Matter with Her?

They both laughed, and Madame smiled, though she did not quite understand what they were talking about. She was still smiling when she reached her own room, for she found it very pleasant to have Edith there, and was delighted to have Alden come to a realising sense of his duties as host.

He had, indeed, conducted himself admirably ever since Mrs. Lee's arrival, though he had been very quiet and reserved at first. With some trepidation, she had told him that she had invited the guest to remain indefinitely, tactfully choosing a moment after an unusually good dinner, when they chanced to be alone.

Alden had taken it calmly, betraying no outward sign of any sort of emotion. "What's the matter with her?" he had asked, curiously. "What's she in trouble about?"

"If she wants you to know, my son, she will tell you herself," Madame had replied, in a tone of gentle rebuke. "I have no right to violate her confidence."