So said my sister Mabel to me one July day when we were in the train on our way home from school. Mabel was rejoicing in the fact that her schooldays were over. She had a most contented air as she sat opposite to me, comfortably placed in the corner of the carriage, her small neat person arrayed in one of the neatest, best-fitting of grey gowns, with daintily white collar and cuffs, and her little face with its pretty, regular features surmounted by a simple but becoming straw hat. The travelling bag by her side, her roll of wraps, her ivory-handled umbrella, all showed the same dainty neatness. Mabel looked what she aspired to be, and what our governess, Miss Carefull, had often called her…
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