ndwiches and an apple--which she ate in
the buzzing, gossiping study-hall at noon-hour, she explored the city.
Sometimes Sanford Hunt begged to go with her. Once Todd stalked along
and embarrassed her by being indignant over an anti-socialist orator in
Madison Square. Once, on Fifth Avenue, she met Sam Weintraub, and he
nonchalantly pointed out, in a passing motor, a man whom he declared to
be John D. Rockefeller.

Even at lunch-hour Una could not come to much understanding with the
girls of the commercial college. They seemed alternately third-rate
stenographers, and very haughty urbanites who knew all about "fellows"
and "shows" and "glad rags." Except for good-natured, square-rigged Miss
Moynihan, and the oldish, anxious, industrious Miss Ingalls, who, like
Una, came from a small town, and the adorably pretty little Miss Moore,
whom you couldn't help loving, Una saw the girls of the school only in a
mass.

It was Sam Weintraub, J. J. Todd, and Sanford Hunt whom Una watched and
liked, and of whom she thought when the school authorities pompously
invited them all to a dance early in November.

Sec. 3

The excitement, the giggles, the discussions of girdles and slippers and
hair-waving and men, which filled the study-hall at noon and the
coat-room at closing hour, was like midnight silence compared with the
tumult in Una's breast when she tried to make herself believe that
either her blue satin evening dress or her white-and-pink frock of
"novelty crepe" was attractive enough for the occasion. The crepe was
the older, but she had worn the blue satin so much that now the crepe
suddenly seemed the newer, the less soiled. After discussions with her
mother, which involved much holding up of the crepe and the tracing of
imaginary diagrams with a forefinger, she decided to put a new velvet
girdle and new sleeve ruffles on the crepe, and then she said, "It will
have to do."

Very different is the dressing of the girl who isn't quite pretty, nor
at all rich, from the luxurious joy which the beautiful woman takes in
her new toilettes. Instead of the faint, shivery wonder as to whether
men will realize how exquisitely the line of a new bodice accentuates
the molding of her neck, the unpretty girl hopes that no one will
observe how unevenly her dress hangs, how pointed and red and rough are
her elbows, how clumsily waved her hair. "I don't think anybody will
notice," she sighs, and is contemptuously conscious of her own st