than she had
ever owned in all her life before.

"It's scandalous!" she murmured to her gay, young heart, "an awful waste
of good money, but for the first time, I see how women can get
clothes-mad."

She devoted the hour and a half before dinner to locating an artistic
dressmaker and putting herself in her hands.

The result was both startling and exciting. The first gown to come home
was a dull, golden-brown velvet thing so soft and clinging and
individual that it put its wearer into quite a flutter. She "did" and
undid her hair, and, in the process, discovered that if she pulled the
"sides" loose there was a tendency to curl and the effect was distinctly
charming--with the strange gown, of course! Then, marshalling all her
courage, she trailed down to the library and thanked heaven when she
found the room empty. It would be easier to occupy the stage than to
make a late entrance when the audience was in position. So Lynda sat
down, tried to read, but was so nervous that her eyes shone and her
cheeks were rosy.

Brace and Conning came in together. "Look who's here!" was Kendall's
brotherly greeting. "Gee! Con, look at our lady friend!" He held his
sister off at arms' length and commented upon her "points."

"I didn't know your hair curled, Lyn."

"I didn't, myself, until this afternoon. You see," she trembled a bit,
"now that I do not have to go in the subway to business there's no
reason for excluding--this sort of thing" (she touched the pretty gown),
"and once you let yourself go, you do not know where you will land.
Curls go with these frills; slippers, too--look!"

Then she glanced up at Conning.

"Do you think I'm very--frivolous?" she asked.

"I never knew"--he was gazing seriously at her--"how handsome you are,
Lyn. Wear that gown morning, noon and night; it's stunning."

"I'm glad you both like it. I feel a little unusual in it--but I'll
settle down. I have been a trifle prim in dress."

Like the giant's robe, Lynda Kendall's garments seemed to transform her
and endow her with the attributes peculiar to themselves. So gradually,
that it caused no wonder, she developed the blessed gift of charm and it
coloured life for herself and others like a glow from a hidden fire.

All this did not interfere with her business. Once she donned her
working garb she was the capable Lynda of the past. A little more
sentiment, perhaps, appeared in her designs--a wider conception; but
that was natural, for happine