She was enormously, incredibly busy, and on
the whole, she hoped, successfully so. The receptions, at least, went
off very well, everybody said.

Dr. Melton did not see his goddaughter again until he came with Mrs.
Sandworth to the last of these events. She was looking singularly
handsome at that time, her color high, her eyes very large and dark,
almost black, so dilated were the pupils. With the nicety of observation
of a man who has lived much among women, the doctor noticed that her
costume, while effective, was not adjusted with the exquisite feeling
for finish that always pervaded the toilets of her mother and sister.
Lydia was trying with all her might to make herself over, but with the
best will in the world she could not attain the prayerful concentration
on the process of attiring herself, characteristic of the other women of
her family.

"She forgot to put the barrette in her back hair," murmured Mrs.
Sandworth mournfully, as she and her brother emerged from the hand-shake
of the last of the ladies assisting in receiving, "and there are two
hooks of her cuff unfastened, and her collar's crooked. But I don't dare
breathe a word to her about it. Since that time before her marriage when
she--"

"Yes, yes, yes," her brother cut her short; "don't bring up that tragic
episode again. I'd succeeded in forgetting it."

"You can call it tragic if you like," commented Mrs. Sandworth, looking
about for an escape from the stranded isolation of guests who have just
been passed along from the receiving line; "but what it was all about
was more than I ever could--" Her eyes fell again on Lydia, and she lost
herself in a sweet passion of admiration and pride. "Oh, isn't she the
loveliest thing that ever drew the breath of life! Was there ever
anybody else that could look so as though--as though they still had dew
on them!"

She went on, with her bold inconsequence: "There is a queer streak in
her. Sometimes I think she doesn't care--" She stopped to gaze at a
striking costume just entering the room.

"What doesn't she care about?" asked the doctor.

Mrs. Sandworth was concentrating on sartorial details as much of her
mind as was ever under control at one time, and, called upon for a
development of her theory, was even more vague than usual. "Oh, I don't
know--about what everybody cares about."

"She's likely to learn, if it's at all catching," conjectured the doctor
grimly, looking around the large, handsome room.