conceal her suspicion. "The gentleman is right; you carry simple things
best," she remarked to Berrie, thus showing her own good judgment.
"Smartly tailored gray or blue suits are your style."

Silent, blushing, tousled by the hands of her decorators, Berrie
permitted hats to be perched on her head and jackets buttoned and
unbuttoned about her shoulders till she felt like a worn clothes-horse.
Wayland beamed with delight, but she was far less satisfied than he; and
when at last selection was made, she still had her doubts, not of the
clothes, but of her ability to wear them. They seemed so alien to her, so
restrictive and enslaving.

"You're an easy fitter," said the saleswoman. "But"--here she lowered her
voice--"you need a new corset. This old one is out of date. Nobody is
wearing hips now."

Thereupon Berrie meekly permitted herself to be led away to a
torture-room. Wayland waited patiently, and when she reappeared all
traces of Bear Tooth Forest had vanished. In a neat tailored suit and a
very "chic" hat, with shoes, gloves, and stockings to match, she was so
transformed, so charmingly girlish in her self-conscious glory, that he
was tempted to embrace her in the presence of the saleswoman. But he
didn't. He merely said: "I see the governor's finish! Let's go to lunch.
You are stunning!"

"I don't know myself," responded Berrie. "The only thing that feels
natural is my hand. They cinched me so tight I can't eat a thing, and my
shoes hurt." She laughed as she said this, for her use of the vernacular
was conscious. "I'm a fraud. Your father will spot my brand first shot.
Look at my face--red as a saddle!"

"Don't let that trouble you. This is the time of year when tan is
fashionable. Don't you be afraid of the governor. Just smile at him, give
him your grip, and he'll melt."

"I'm the one to melt. I'm beginning now."

"I know how you feel, but you'll get used to the conventional
boiler-plate and all the rest of it. We all groan and growl when we come
back to it each autumn; but it's a part of being civilized, and we
submit."

Notwithstanding his confident advice, Wayland led the two silent and
inwardly dismayed women into the showy cafe of the hotel with some degree
of personal apprehension concerning the approaching interview with his
father. Of course, he did not permit this to appear in the slightest
degree. On the contrary, he gaily ordered a choice lunch, and did his
best to keep his companions from s