and appointments, of coming and going, appearing and
disappearing quite as she pleased. To the daughter of a scrupulously
exact family, which regarded tardiness as a fault, and breaking an
appointment as a crime, this high-handed flexibility in dealing with
time and bonds and promises had an exciting quality of freedom.

On a good many occasions these periods of waiting chanced to be shared
by Eleanor Hubert, for whom, after the first two or three encounters,
Sylvia came to have a rather condescending sympathy, singularly in
contrast to the uneasy envy with which she had regarded her only a
few months before. However, as regards dress, Eleanor was still a
phenomenon of the greatest interest, and Sylvia never saw her without
getting an idea or two, although it was plain to any one who knew
Eleanor that this mastery of the technique of modern American costume
was no achievement of her own, that she was merely the lovely and
plastic material molded, perhaps to slightly over-complicated effects,
by her mother's hands.

From that absent but pervasive personality Sylvia took one suggestion
after another. For instance, a very brief association with Eleanor
caused her to relegate to the scrapheap of the "common" the ready-made
white ruching for neck and sleeves which she had always before taken
for granted. Eleanor's slim neck and smooth wrists were always set
off by a few folds of the finest white chiffon, laid with dexterous
carelessness, and always so exquisitely fresh that they were obviously
renewed by a skilful hand after only a few hours' wearing. The first
time she saw Eleanor, Sylvia noticed this detail with appreciation,
and immediately struggled to reproduce it in her own costume. Like
other feats of the lesser arts this perfect trifle turned out to
depend upon the use of the lightest and most adroit touch. None of the
chiffon which came in Aunt Victoria's boxes would do. It must be fresh
from the shop-counter, ruinous as this was to Sylvia's very modest
allowance for dress. Even then she spoiled many a yard of the filmy,
unmanageable stuff before she could catch the spirit of those
apparently careless folds, so loosely disposed and yet never
displaced. It was a phenomenon over which a philosopher might
well have pondered, this spectacle of Sylvia's keen brain and
well-developed will-power equally concerned with the problems of
chemistry and philosophy and history, and with the problem of
chiffon folds. She hersel