ed
her out to me this afternoon--she passed here on her way to the
post-office, and she was in deep mourning----"

"Sophie's life is all behind her; yours is ahead of you."

"Wouldn't it seem like--forgetting?"

"You can never forget. But when you come to me there will be young
people, and I want you to share their life. Shall we call it settled,
and plan a white dress for to-morrow night?"

Diana had a fashion of calling things settled, and of bringing others to
her point of view. Bettina had no sense of injury, but only boundless
confidence in the decisions of the wonderful woman creature who was to
fill her life with gladness.

"There will be twelve of us to-morrow night," she sketched rapidly.
"Anthony and you and Sophie and I will make four, then there will be two
comfortable married couples, and Justin Ford, who is flying his
hydro-aeroplane over the harbor, and Bobbie Tucker, who has his yacht in
commission, and Sara Duffield, whom you won't care for, because she is
a bit of a snob, and Doris Sears, who is sweet and girlish and about
your age.

"Sophie and I have picked out the dress you are to wear," she continued.
"I think you are just about Sophie's size, and there's an embroidered
white, very sheer and fine, with a round low neck and short sleeves, and
a girdle of amethyst, and silk stockings and satin slippers of the same
color. I'm not sure whether the slippers will fit, but I fancy that a
bit of cotton tucked into the toes would make them all right.

"And I want you to wear your hair like I saw the girls in Paris--curled
over your ears with a soft fringe--you'll look adorably young, Betty,
and so dear and sweet."

The girl's cheeks were brilliant with excitement. "Why, it doesn't seem
true. Two days ago I was like Cinderella sitting in the ashes, and now
I'm a fairy princess, and you are the fairy godmother."

"Am I, my dear?" Diana spoke absently; her eyes were on a wonderful
piece of lace, which, framed quaintly against a background of velvet,
hung above a cabinet in the corner.

"Where did you get that collar, Bettina?" she asked.

"It was one of the things that belonged to father's family," the girl
explained. "You know he was an Italian, a Venetian--and mother would
never let me wear the collar or the old jewels. There's a queer ring.
I'm going to give it to Anthony for a wedding ring."

She spoke the last words with a charming hesitation, then went to the
little cabinet in the corner a