"Dandelions are the prettiest flowers I know," Helen said evenly, apparently undisturbed by her sister's outburst. "They are like the sun. It is their ugly leaves and stems that make people dislike them. I am tired of creating pretty, dainty things."

"There is no time for one of your arguments now," the countess said impatiently. "You must go upstairs immediately, child, and get ready. Mr. Mainwaring will be here within the hour."

"I will do as I am, Mama," Helen said, putting aside her embroidery and smoothing her skirt over her knees. "My dress is clean."

"You will not do at all, child," her mother said firmly. "Your new muslin will suit very nicely. And I shall send Matty up to try to do something with your hair." She sighed. "Why is it that it will hold into no style, Helen? No matter how carefully it is curled and confined with pins, a half-hour later you have a halo of fine hairs standing all around your head. I am sure you do not take after me."

"It really does not matter, Mama," Helen said placidly. "I am not intending to ensnare Mr. Mainwaring, you know."

"Your trouble is that you have forgotten that you are almost twenty years of age already," Emily said. "We must all be looking for husbands at every opportunity, Helen. It is our duty, you know."

The countess clapped her hands. "Helen, move!" she said. "And remember-it is to be the muslin."

"Yes, Mama," Helen said.

But when she was in her room, Helen did not immediately change her clothes. She wandered to the window and looked up at the sky. The clouds were low and heavy. They promised rain later. It looked like a chilly day for summer. Even so, the outdoors looked inviting. She gazed out across her father's fields to the east, to the large grove of trees that was just across the boundary from their land, on the land belonging to Mr. Mainwaring.