ppearance in her
cousins' circle came at last, and she smiled whimsically at herself in
the mirror as her new maid added the finishing touches to her toilette.
She still clung stubbornly to black, but Mrs. Halstead had seen to it
that no awkward suggestion of mourning marred the effect of her
shimmering sable gown. It brought out her waxen, lily-like pallor and
the midnight luster of her hair, accentuating her height and slimness,
and her eyes glowed like sapphire stars.

The reflection which met her eyes was a far cry from the khaki-clad
girl who rode man-fashion about the dusty white roads of the Limasito
country, and rallied the gamblers in the Blue Chip. Oblivious of the
maid's presence, Willa bowed solemnly in acknowledgment of the
transformation, and pinning on the orchids Ripley Halstead had
thoughtfully provided, she descended to her fate.

At first she was conscious only of a great many people; very bored,
very languid people who touched her hand limply and then turned away as
if to pursue some interrupted conversation of their own. Then all at
once Willa was aware of a handclasp more vitalizing, and looked up into
a pair of familiar laughing eyes.

She smiled infectiously.

"How do you do, Mr. North?"

"By Jove!" Winnie beamed at her. "How do you girls manage it?--to
change your type, I mean. I thought you were wonderful that night, but
now you've eclipsed the memory of it, and I didn't believe anything
could ever do that. Somehow, you make me feel as if that girl never
existed, and I don't know that I like it. She might have been a real
pal, but you are much too stunning and gorgeous for one to dare such a
thought."

"I don't quite know which the real girl is." Willa eyed him gravely.
"She seems like a stranger to me, sometimes, but I reck--I think the
one you met first is down underneath, just taking a siesta, and she's
apt to wake up any time. Who is the man with the lock of hair shot
away over his right ear?"

Winnie started, and eyed her curiously.

"You mean Harrington Chase? He says his hair grew out that way after
an attack of yellow fever."

Willa pursed her lips.

"It is only a bullet which leaves a scalded furrow like that, as clean
and clear as a line drawn on paper. Who is he, anyway?"

"Funny you should have asked that. He's one of the biggest
oil-operators on the Exchange; owns a lot of leases somewhere in
Mexico. His partner is down there now, Starr Wiley. I don't