She was well made, having escaped the square solidity of figure that characterized Cousin Elizabeth. Her features were still in an undeveloped condition, and her hair, brushed smooth and plastered down on her forehead, was tormented into ringlets behind. She looked at my lanky form with some apprehension.
"Was it a good roll, Elsa?" I asked.
"Splendid!" she answered.
"You didn't know Cousin Augustin was looking on, did you?" asked her mother.
"No, I didn't." But it was plain that she did not care either.
I felt that Cousin Elizabeth's honest eyes were searching my face.
"Give me a kiss, won't you, Elsa?" I asked.
Elsa turned her chubby cheek up to me in a perfection of indifference. In fact, both Elsa and I were performing family duties. Thus we kissed for the first time.
"Now go and let nurse put on a clean frock for you," said Cousin Elizabeth. "You're to come downstairs to-day, and you're not fit to be seen. Don't roll any more when you've changed your frock."
Elsa smiled, shook her head, and ran off. I gathered the impression that even in the clean frock she would roll again if she chanced to be disposed to that exercise. The air of Bartenstein was not the air of Artenberg. A milder climate reigned. There was no Styrian discipline for Elsa. I believe that in all her life she did at her parents' instance only one thing that she seriously disliked. Cousin Elizabeth and I walked on.
"She's a baby still," said Cousin Elizabeth pres-
