she, the bright, the joyous, the warm, was colder than we were,
and _would never be warm again_. Never again ... And there were garish
flowers down-stairs, and music and favors and ices--nasty shivery
ices,--and pretty soon a brawling crowd of people would come and
_dance_ because I was eighteen--and still alive.

Into our hideous brooding broke a husky little voice that had not yet
spoken:

"Dolly Leonard told my big sister a month ago that she wasn't a bit
frightened,--that she had had one perfect year, and a perfect year was
well worth dying for--if one had to. Of course she hoped she wouldn't
die, but if she did, it was a wonderful thing to die happy. Dolly was
queer about it; I heard my big sister telling mother. Dolly said, 'Life
couldn't always be at high tide--there was only one high tide in any
one's life, and she thought it was beautiful to go in the full flush
before the tide turned.'"

The speaker ended with a harsh sob.

Then suddenly into our awed silence broke my mother in full evening
dress. She was a very handsome mother.

As she looked down on our huddled group there were tears in her eyes,
but there was no shock. I noticed distinctly that there was no shock.
"Why, girls," she exclaimed, with a certain terse brightness, "aren't
you dressed yet? It's eight o'clock and people are beginning to arrive."
She seemed so frivolous to me. I remember that I felt a little ashamed
of her.

"We don't want any party," I answered, glumly. "The girls are going
home."

"Nonsense!" said my mother, catching me by the hand and pulling me
almost roughly to my feet. "Go quickly and call one of the maids to come
and help you dress. Angeline, I'll do your hair. Bertha, where are your
shoes? Gertrude, that's a beautiful gown--just your color. Hurry into
it. There goes the bell. Hark! the orchestra is beginning."

And so, with a word here, a touch there, a searching look everywhere,
mother marshalled us into line. I had never heard her voice raised
before.

The color came back to our cheeks, the light to our eyes. We bubbled
over with spirits--nervous spirits, to be sure, but none the less
vivacious ones.

When the last hook was fastened, the last glove buttoned, the last curl
fluffed into place, mother stood for an instant tapping her foot on the
floor. She looked like a little general.

"Girls," she said, "there are five hundred people coming to-night from
all over the State, and fully two-thirds of them never