Chapter 19 - Page 2

after the pause,--"I think you'll find out that it's
a mistake."

"No, I shall not," returned Lucia, quite glowing with enthusiasm. "And I
know I shall learn a great deal from you."

This was such a startling proposition that Octavia felt decidedly
uncomfortable. She flushed rosy red.

"I'm the one who ought to learn things, I think," she said. "I'm always
doing things that frighten aunt Belinda, and you know how the rest
regard me."

"Octavia," said Lucia, very naively indeed, "suppose we try to help each
other. If you will tell me when I am wrong, I will try to--to have the
courage to tell you. That will be good practice for me. What I want most
is courage and frankness, and I am sure it will take courage to make up
my mind to tell you of your--of your mistakes."

Octavia regarded her with mingled admiration and respect.

"I think that's a splendid idea," she said.

"Are you sure," faltered Lucia, "are you sure you won't mind the
things I may have to say? Really, they are quite little things in
themselves--hardly worth mentioning"--

"Tell me one of them, right now," said Octavia, point-blank.

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Lucia, starting. "I'd rather not--just now."

"Well," commented Octavia, "that sounds as if they must be pretty
unpleasant. Why don't you want to? They will be quite as bad to-morrow.
And to refuse to tell me one is a bad beginning. It looks as if you were
frightened; and it isn't good practice for you to be frightened at such a
little thing."

Lucia felt convicted. She made an effort to regain her composure.

"No, it is not," she said. "But that is always the way. I am continually
telling myself that I _will_ be courageous and candid; and, the first
time any thing happens, I fail. I _will_ tell you one thing."

She stopped short here, and looked at Octavia guiltily.

"It is something--I think I would do if--if I were in your place," Lucia
stammered. "A very little thing indeed."

"Well?" remarked Octavia anxiously.

Lucia lost her breath, caught it again, and proceeded cautiously, and
with blushes at her own daring.

"If I were in your place," she said, "I think--that, perhaps--only
perhaps, you know--I would not wear--my hair--_quite_ so low down--over
my forehead."

Octavia sprang from her seat, and ran to the pier-glass over the mantle.
She glanced at the reflection of her own startled, pretty face, and
then, putting her hand up to the soft blonde "bang" which met her brows,
turned to