sage, and a huge bunch of violets for the bowl in the library.
She insisted that Page should wear her smartest frock, and Mrs. Wessels
her grenadine of great occasions. As for herself, she decided upon a
dinner gown of black, decollete, with sleeves of lace. Her hair she
dressed higher than ever. She resolved upon wearing all her jewelry,
and to that end put on all her rings, secured the roses in place with
an amethyst brooch, caught up the little locks at the back of her head
with a heart-shaped pin of tiny diamonds, and even fastened the ribbon
of satin that girdled her waist, with a clasp of flawed turquoises.

Until five in the afternoon she was in the gayest spirits, and went
down to the dining-room to supervise the setting of the table, singing
to herself.

Then, almost at the very last, when Jadwin might be expected at any
moment, her humour changed again, and again, for no discoverable reason.

Page, who came into her sister's room after dressing, to ask how she
looked, found her harassed and out of sorts. She was moody, spoke in
monosyllables, and suddenly declared that the wearing anxiety of
house-keeping was driving her to distraction. Of all days in the week,
why had Jadwin chosen this particular one to come to dinner. Men had no
sense, could not appreciate a woman's difficulties. Oh, she would be
glad when the evening was over.

Then, as an ultimate disaster, she declared that she herself looked
"Dutchy." There was no style, no smartness to her dress; her hair was
arranged unbecomingly; she was growing thin, peaked. In a word, she
looked "Dutchy."

All at once she flung off her roses and dropped into a chair.

"I will not go down to-night," she cried. "You and Aunt Wess' must make
out to receive Mr. Jadwin. I simply will not see any one to-night, Mr.
Jadwin least of all. Tell him I'm gone to bed sick--which is the truth,
I am going to bed, my head is splitting."

All persuasion, entreaty, or cajolery availed nothing. Neither Page nor
Aunt Wess' could shake her decision. At last Page hazarded a
remonstrance to the effect that if she had known that Laura was not
going to be at dinner she would not have taken such pains with her own
toilet.

Promptly thereat Laura lost her temper.

"I do declare, Page," she exclaimed, "it seems to me that I get very
little thanks for ever taking any interest in your personal appearance.
There is not a girl in Chicago--no millionaire's daughter--has any
prettier gown