s
and you shall wear your grey voile. It will be quite a party."

"Will there be ice cream? Because if there isn't I don't want to get
dressed," sighed Jane. "My new things don't fit. They look like bags."

"It will soon be holidays and then I'll fix them for you."

Jane laid a childish cheek to her sister's hand.

"Nice Esther," she cooed. "I'm sorry I called you a pig." Then, in a
change of tone as they left Aunt Amy resting in the hammock, "Esther,
why is Auntie so afraid of mother lately? She says such queer things I
don't know what she means."

"Neither do I, dear. But I think it is just a passing fancy. She was
very much hurt about the ring being sold. When she gets it back she will
forget about it."

"She looks at mother as if she hates her."

"Oh, no!" in a startled tone. "How can you say such a thing, Jane?"

"But she does. I've seen her. I don't blame her. I think it was
horrid--"

"That's enough. You know nothing about it. Little girls who do not
understand have no right to criticise."

"Fred says it was the most underhan--"

"Jane, one word more and you shall have no berries to-night. Duck, don't
you realise that you are speaking in a very unkind way of your
own mother."

The child's eyes filled with ready tears, but her little mouth was
stubborn. "Auntie's more my mother, Esther, and so are you. And it was
mean to take the ring and I don't care whether I have any berries
or not."

Supper was a very quiet meal that night. Mrs. Coombe, interrupted in the
process of dressing, came down in an old kimono, but ate almost nothing,
Jane was sullen, Aunt Amy silent and Esther happily oblivious to
everything save her own happy thoughts.

As soon as she could, she slipped away to her own room, and, choosing
everything with care, began to dress herself as a maiden dresses for the
eye of her lover. She was to be all in white, her dainty dress, her
petticoats, stockings and shoes. White made her look younger than ever,
absurdly young. He had never seen her all in white and she knew quite
well how soft it made the shadows of her hair, how startlingly blue her
eyes, how warm and living the ivory of her lovely neck.

"Oh, I am glad I am pretty!" she whispered to her mirror. "Glad, glad!"
Then with a laugh at her own childishness she "touched wood" to
propitiate the jealous fates and ran down stairs to hide herself in the
duskiest corner of the veranda.

It was delightful there. The cooling air was sweet