There was discord at Misrule.<br><br>Nell, in some mysterious way, had let down a muslin frock of last season till it reached her ankles.<br><br>And Meg was doing her best to put her foot down upon it.<br><br>In a metaphorical sense, of course. Meg Woolcot at twenty-one was far too lady-like to resort to a personal struggle with her young sister.<br><br>But her eyes were distressed.<br><br>"You can't say I don't look nice," Nell said.<br><br>"Why, even Martha said, 'La, Miss Nell!' and held her head on one side with a pleased look for two minutes."