l turned from the glass,
he switched on the light.

"All right," he said, a moment later. "If you care to try on the
marten again, we'll see how that shows up under the artificial."
Deftly he lifted the squirrel from her shoulders, and, picking up the
Russian sable, held it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. As
she buttoned it, he stepped back, and viewed the result through
critically puckered eyes. With an effort he refrained from voicing his
enchantment with the living picture before him. Old John was right--it
was a coat fit for a queen!

"I like this one best. I'll take it."

Hedin agreed. "I think you have chosen wisely," he answered, adding,
as she started to loosen the garment at the throat, "Just a minute--the
set of the collar in the back----" He stepped behind her, raised the
collar a trifle with his fingers, smoothed it into place, and stepped
aside to note the effect. "Just a trifle low," he said, "but it's too
late to have it altered to-day."

"Oh, bother! I think the set is all right. Who would ever notice it?
Let it go."

Hedin smiled. "You can wear it to-night, all right, but you must
promise me to send it down the first thing Monday morning for the
alteration.

"I will bring it to the house this afternoon."

A sudden caprice seized her. "Why, I think I'll wear it!" she
answered. "Just help me on with it, Oskar. And thank you so much for
helping me select it. Here comes Mr. Wentworth, now. I wonder whether
he will like it. I'm crazy about it. What kind of a marten did you
say it is? Everybody will be asking me, and I want to be able to tell
them what my own coat is."

"Baum marten," answered Hedin stiffly, heartily wishing the coat safe
in its accustomed place. In vain he regretted the wild impulse that
had led him to substitute the sable coat for the marten. The impulse
had come when the girl told him that Mrs. Orcutt was to be one of the
theatre party. The plan had flashed upon him with overwhelming
brilliance. He knew that Jean would in all probability never notice
that the coat was not a marten. And he knew that Mrs. Orcutt most
certainly would, for McNabb had once publicly compared it with her
coat, much to the New York coat's detriment and Mrs. Orcutt's
humiliation. It was not altogether loyalty for his employer that led
him to plot the woman an uncomfortable evening, for he owed her a
grudge on his own account. Ever since the coming of Wentworth, whom