rsemaid had carelessly set it on fire. Of
course Mrs. Dickson would have to buy two more curtains to replace them;
and now, with the odd one in her hand, she started toward her trunk,
paused doubtfully, and finally said to me: "Could you use this curtain
for some small window or something, Clara?"

At her very first word a dazzling possibility presented itself to my
mind. With burning cheeks, I answered: "Oh, yes, ma'am, I--I can use it,
but not at a window, I'm afraid." Her bonnie face flashed into smiles.

"All right; take it along, then!" she cried, "and do what you like with
it. It's only been up two days, and has not a mark on it."

I fairly flew from the house. I sang, as I made my way uptown to buy
several yards of rose-pink paper cambric and a half garland of
American-made artificial roses. Then I sped home and, behind locked
doors, measured and cut and snipped, and, regardless of possible
accident, held about a gill of pins in my mouth while I hummed over my
work. All my fears were gone, they had fled before the waving white
curtain, which fortunately for me was of fine meshed net, carrying for
design unusually small garlands of roses and daisies. And when the great
night came, I appeared as one of the ball guests in a pink under-slip,
with white lace overdress, whose low waist was garlanded with wild roses.
So, happy at heart and light of foot, I danced with the rest, my pink and
white gown ballooning about me in the courtesies with as much rustle and
glow of color as though it had been silk.

But, alas! the imitation was too good a one! The pretty, cheap little
gown I was so happy over attracted the attention of a woman whose whisper
meant scandal, whose lifted brow was an innuendo, whose drooped lid was
an accusation. Like a carrion bird she fed best upon corruption. Thank
Heaven! this cruel creature, hated by the men, feared by the women, was
not an actress, but through mistaken kindness she had been made wardrobe
woman, where, as Mr. Ellsler once declared, she spent her time in ripping
up and destroying the reputation of his actors instead of making and
repairing their wardrobes.

That nothing was too small to catch her pale, cold eye is proved by the
fact that even a ballet-girl's dress received her attention. Next day,
after the play "Fashion" had been done, this woman was saying: "That
girl's mother had better be looking after her conduct, I think!"

"Why, what on earth has Clara done?" asked her l