erfect.

After an exhaustive discussion of the subject, at
which both Berke and Royall ignorantly and
gratuitously assisted, and were flouted for their
pains, it was irrevocably decided that Pocahontas
should appear in pure white unrelieved by a
single dash of color.

"She looks cheap and common in any thing but
dead black, or pure white, at a party," pronounced
Grace with sisterly frankness, and of course that
settled the matter, although Mrs. Mason did
venture on the modest protest that it would look
"bride-like and unusual."

"I want her to look unusual," declared Grace;
"to make her so, is at present the object of my
being. I shall hesitate at nothing short of cutting
off her nose to secure that desirable result. To
be admired, a woman must stand out distinctly
from the throng; and I've set my heart on
Princess's being the belle of the ball. Have you
plenty of flowers, dear? As flowers are to be
your sole garniture, you must have a profusion.
I can't tolerate skimpy, rubbishing bouquets."

"None at all, Grace," confessed Pocahontas,
ruefully, "except a single calla. I cut my last
white rosebuds and camellias to send to Nina
Byrd Marion the very day before I heard about
the Shirley ball. Isn't it provoking?"

"Then somebody must get you some," Grace
responded promptly, pausing in her preparations,
and regarding her sister with the air of an autocrat;
"if the men are not lost to all sense of honor and
decency, you'll have plenty. Of course you _must_
have plenty. If only they will have sufficient
intellect to select white ones! But they won't.
I'd better instruct Roy and Berkeley at once."

On the morning of the ball, Berkeley entered
his mother's room, where the three ladies sat in
solemn conclave regarding with discontent a
waiter full of colored flowers which a thoughtful
neighbor had just sent over to Pocahontas. He
held in his hand a good-sized box which he
deposited in his sister's lap with the remark:

"Look, Princess! Here's a New Year's gift
just come for you. I don't know the writing. I
wonder what it is!"

"A subtle aroma suggests--fruit," hazarded
Grace, sniffing curiously.

"Perhaps flowers," suggests Mrs. Mason, who
that morning was a woman with one idea.

Pocahontas wrestled with the cords, unfolded
the wrappers, and lifted the cover. Then she
uttered a long drawn "oh" of satisfaction.

"What is it?" demanded the others with lively impatience.

Pocahontas lifte