-petaled flower as she slipped it on over her bare shoulders, and
emerged above, triumphant and yet half afraid to look at herself in
the mirror lest she should see that her home-made toilet had not "the
right look." One glance satisfied even her jealous eagerness. It had
exactly the right look--that is, it looked precisely like the picture
from which she had copied it. She gazed with naive satisfaction at the
faithfulness with which her reflected appearance resembled that of the
Parisian demi-mondaine whose photograph she had seen, and settled
on her slim, delicately modeled shoulders the straps of shirred and
beaded chiffon which apparently performed the office of keeping her
dress from sliding to the floor. In reality, under its fluid, gauzy
draperies, it was constructed on a firm, well-fitting, well-fastened
foundation of opaque cloth which quite adequately clothed the young
body, but its appearance was of a transparent cloud, only kept from
floating entirely away by those gleaming straps on the shoulders, an
effect carefully calculated in the original model, and inimitably
caught by Sylvia's innocent fingers.

She turned herself about, artlessly surprised to see that her neck and
shoulders looked quite like those of the women in the fashion-plates
and the magazine illustrations. She looked at the clock. It was early
yet. She reflected that she never _could_ take the time other girls
did in dressing. She wondered what they did. What could one do, after
one's bath was taken, one's hair done, and one's gown donned--oh, of
course, powder! She applied it liberally, and then wiped away every
grain, that being what she had seen older girls do in the Gymnasium
dressing-room. Then with a last survey of her face, unaltered by the
ceremonial with the powder-puff, she stepped to the door.

But there, with her hand on the knob, she was halted by an
inexplicable hesitation about opening the door and showing herself.
She looked down at her bare shoulders and bosom, and faintly blushed.
It was really very, very low, far lower than any dress she had ever
worn! And the fact that Eleanor Hubert, that all the "swell" girls
wore theirs low, did not for the moment suffice her--it was somehow
different--their showing their shoulders and her showing her own.
She could not turn the knob and stood, irresolute, frowning vaguely,
though not very deeply disquieted. Finally she compromised by taking
up a pretty spangled scarf Aunt Victoria had