s she prowled and peered, examined and admired,
to her heart's content. "Now I've seen everything," she averred, at
last, with calm satisfaction, "and I'm twice as hungry as I was. But I
can't leave off thinking what a lucky person Emma Dean is to have all
this grandeur and Grace Harlowe thrown in."

"And I can't help thinking what a lucky person Grace Harlowe is to have
Emma Dean."

"Then we're a mutual admiration society," finished Emma, "and there's no
telling where we'll leave off."

"If I didn't have to go on to Overton Hall I wouldn't wear a hat,"
sighed Grace, half an hour later, reaching reluctantly for her hat. She
and Emma had bathed their faces, rearranged their hair, and put on fresh
lingerie blouses with their tailored suits. "Are you ready, Emma? I
wonder if Miss Reynolds is. I'll stop and see."

Grace knocked lightly on the newcomer's door. It was opened immediately.

"Are you ready, Miss Reynolds?" she asked, her alert eyes noting that
the offending peplum had been tucked inside the black skirt, and that
Mary Reynolds with her hat off was a vast improvement on Mary Reynolds
with her hat on. She also observed that the girl's hair, though drawn
uncompromisingly back from her forehead, showed a decided tendency to
curl. With her usual impulsiveness she exclaimed, "Oh, you have
naturally curly hair, haven't you? It's such a pretty shade of brown. Do
let me do it for you. It's a pity not to make the most of it."

The girl regarded her with grave surprise. "Are you making fun of me?"
she asked seriously.

"'Making fun of you,'" repeated Grace. "I should say not. I think you
have beautiful hair. Why, what is it, Miss Reynolds?" For, with a queer,
choking cry, the odd little stranger threw herself face downward on the
bed and sobbed disconsolately.

Grace stood silent, watching the sob-wracked figure with puzzled,
sympathetic eyes. Emma appeared in the doorway, her eyebrows elevated in
astonishment. Grace motioned for her to come in. The girl on the bed
wept on, while the two young women waited patiently for her sobs to
cease.

Suddenly she sat up with a jerk, and dashed her hand across her eyes.
"I'm sorry--I--was so--so--silly," she faltered, "but I couldn't help
it. No one ever told me that I was anything but plain and ugly before."

"You poor little thing," sympathized Emma.

Grace sat down on the bed beside Mary and put her arm across the thin
shoulders. "Cheer up," she said brightly. "I am sur