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"No," said the negress. But while her tongue uttered the denial, her eyes rolled uneasily around the lawn, as though dreading some invisible presence. "No, missy. Dido a great one, you know. She no 'fraid ob dat doctor; but him big man, missy; you marry him." Elinor nodded. "She said I might as well tell you all, for it would be in the papers tomorrow. Her father has failed, and they're dreadfully poor. It's been coming on for a long while, and that was why she wanted the prize so much—not that she excused herself for it, she only said I could see how she came to stoop so low. She was frantic for the money and was so worried that she couldn't think of any subject for herself. She thought I was rich and happy and wouldn't care. She even thought I might not turn in my study at all, when I got sick that night. She's had a terrible time about it, but she was so glad to have the chance to explain." "Yes, I will," I sniffed in a comforted voice. What woman wouldn't be comforted by being called a "perfect flower"? I looked out between my fingers to see what more he was going to say, but he had turned to a shelf and taken down two books. "Patricia's awfully superficial, I think," she confided to him cheerfully, as she watched her readjusting her bright hair beneath the pretty hat rim at the quaint old mirror of the bookcase. "She's so set on pretty things. She just worships anyone who is pretty—no matter whether she understands their character or not. I wish we could make her more serious-minded and careful.".