kirt that billowed and flared and flounced and
spread in a great, graceful circle--a skirt strangely light for all its
fulness--a skirt like, and yet, somehow, unlike those garments seen in
ancient copies of Godey's Lady Book.

"That can't be--you don't mean--what--what IS it?" stammered Buck,
dismayed.

Emma, her arms curved above her head like a ballet-dancer's,
pirouetted, curtsied very low so that the skirt spread all about her on
the floor, like the petals of a flower.

"Hoops, my dear!"

"Hoops!" echoed Buck, in weak protest. "Hoops, my DEAR!"

Emma stroked one silken fold with approving fingers.

"Our new leader for spring."

"But, Emma, you're joking!"

She stared, suddenly serious.

"You mean--you don't like it!"

"Like it! For a fancy-dress costume, yes; but as a petticoat for
every-day wear, to be made up by us for our customers! But of course
you're playing a trick on me." He laughed a little weakly and came
toward her. "You can't catch me that way, old girl! It's darned
becoming, Emma--I'll say that." He bent down, smiling. "I'll allow
you to kiss me. And then try me with the real surprise, will you?"

Her coquetry vanished. Her smile fled with it. Her pretty pose was
abandoned. Mrs. T. A. Buck, wife, gave way to Emma McChesney Buck,
business woman. She stiffened a little, as though bracing herself for
a verbal encounter.

"You'll get used to it. I expected you to be jolted at the first shock
of it. I was, myself--when the idea came to me."

Buck passed a frenzied forefinger under his collar, as though it had
suddenly grown too tight for him.

"Used to it! I don't want to get used to it! It's preposterous! You
can't be serious! No woman would wear a garment like that! For five
years skirts have been tighter and tighter----"

"Until this summer they became tightest," interrupted Emma. "They could
go no farther. I knew that meant, 'About face!' I knew it meant not a
slightly wider skirt but a wildly wider skirt. A skirt as bouffant as
the other had been scant. I was sure it wouldn't be a gradual process
at all but a mushroom growth--hobbles to-day, hoops to-morrow. Study
the history of women's clothes, and you'll find that has always been
true."

"Look here, Emma," began Buck, desperately; "you're wrong, all wrong!
Here, let me throw this scarf over your shoulders. Now we'll sit down
and talk this thing over sensibly."

"I'll agree to the scarf"--she drew a sof