of such an expression of opinion, she
might have modified her verdict or at least held it in reserve. A
tempest swept the room. Persis was seized, whirled this way and then
that, hugged, kissed, forced to join in a delirious two-step. With
scarcely breath to protest, powerless in the grip of the storm she had
herself evoked, she finally came to anchor between the secretary and
the armchair, Diantha still holding her fast.

"Shoe-tops! You _did_ say shoe-tops, didn't you, darling Miss Persis?"

"Yes, I said shoe-tops, and I'm glad I didn't say a train. A real long
dress would have been the death of me, it's more'n likely. For all
you're as tall as Jack's bean-stalk, Diantha Sinclair, you're not grown
up yet."

Persis freed herself, smiling ruefully as she arranged her disordered
hair. The delicious girlishness of the outburst in which she had
involuntarily participated had the effect of challenging her own
obstinate sense of being on the threshold of things, and making her
wonder if perhaps she were not growing old. That the passing shadow on
her face failed to attract Diantha's attention was due less to lack of
insight than to youth's cheerfully selfish absorption in its own
problems. "May I pick out the style from the grown-up part of the
fashion books?" was the girl's breathless question.

"It's got to be simple," Persis warned her sternly. Then softening:
"But good land! Grandmothers nowadays are wearing simple little
girlish things with ribbon bows in the back. Pick out what you want.
Everything in this month's book is just about right for sixteen."

As Diantha gave herself to rapturous study of the fashion-plates,
Persis studied her. "She's in a fair way to make a beauty. Annabel at
her best never held a candle to what this girl is likely to turn out.
Annabel's looks are skin deep. Diantha's have top-roots running to her
brain and her heart, too. Only she ought to be happier. 'Most any
girl face is pretty to look at if it's happy enough, same as 'most any
flower is pretty if it grows in the sun."

A harassing reflection troubled Diantha's bliss. "Miss Persis, I
haven't got a petticoat that comes below my knees."

"I'll make you a petticoat the same length as the dress. That's always
the best way. A skirt that's too long looks as if you wanted to show
the lace, and one's that too short looks as if you were trying to save
on cotton cloth, and I don't know which is worse." To herself Persi