es wear such
smart clothes?" was Kathleen's appraising comment after they had passed
Evelyn, who nodded to them in condescending fashion.

"Her sister, Ida, makes them. She told me so when she came here to ask
me to take Miss Ward into Harlowe House. She is a very pretty girl,
isn't she?"

Kathleen nodded. "How are things at Harlowe House?" she inquired
irrelevantly.

"Going beautifully. I told you about our club didn't I?"

"Not a word. I haven't seen you for a week."

The newspaper girl listened interestedly to Grace's account of the club.
"It would make a good story for my paper," she commented. "How about it,
Grace?"

"You're welcome to it if the girls don't object. Suppose you come as a
guest to our next meeting and ask their permission."

"I'll do it," promised Kathleen.

Mary Reynolds received and accepted Kathleen's invitation to the
reception with unmistakable joy. Grace had sent home for a pink silk
evening gown, which she had worn but little, and fairly forced it, with
slippers, stockings and gloves, upon the reluctant Mary, with the plea
that pink was not her color and therefore she never wore the frock.
Aside from shortening it, it had needed little alteration, and when the
night of the sophomore reception arrived, Kathleen appeared, an hour
before the time to start for the dance, to help Mary dress. She brought
a cluster of pinky-white roses and a pink chiffon scarf, which, she
diplomatically insisted, did not go well with any of her gowns and
exactly matched Mary's.

"I can't believe that I am I," Mary said happily, as she viewed herself
wonderingly in the round dressing-table mirror. She clasped her thin,
childish hands impulsively together. "I wish every girl in the world had
such good friends and pretty clothes as I have!"

"I hope no one has such elusive hooks and eyes on their clothes as I
have," grumbled Emma Dean, who had appeared in the doorway in time to
hear Mary's heartfelt remark. "I have permanently dislocated one
shoulder and ruined the charming curves of both my elbows forever, in a
vain, but valiant, effort to unite one miserable hook and eye, which I'm
sure the dressmaker purposely sewed out of my reach."

"Poor Emma," sympathized Kathleen. "Let me help you."

Emma surrendered herself to Kathleen's deft fingers with a ludicrous
gesture of resignation.

"Are all the Harlowe House girls going?" asked Kathleen.

"Yes; thanks to the juniors and seniors, not one has been left