but her satisfaction in
that fact was somewhat modified by the discovery that all her trimming
was running the wrong way.

Nevertheless, Catie enjoyed some happy hours, despite the chilling
disappointment of finding her frocks inadequate. It would have been
nicer, of course, not to discover too late that she lacked the proper
gown for any especial function; nicer to have seen herself, as she saw
some other girls, girls not nearly so pretty as herself, attended, not
by one swain only, but surrounded by a laughing, eager dozen. Still,
there were compensations, chaperons among them. Catie's expressed
regrets were wholly perfunctory, whenever Mrs. Brenton confessed that
she was tired and needed to lie down.

For Mrs. Brenton also had come to Scott's commencement which, to her
mind, was the crowning event of her own lifetime. Not only that, but
somehow or other she had squeezed out the money to buy herself a new
black silk gown, the first one since her marriage, more than twenty
years before. Moreover, in deference to the prevailing styles, she
explained to Scott on her way up from the station, she had had it made
to hook up in the back above a little black lace tucker. Scott, as a
matter of course, did not know a tucker from a turnip. None the less,
he nodded his approval. That same evening, he confessed to himself a
moderate degree of pride, when he introduced Reed Opdyke to his mother.
Mrs. Brenton might lack certain social frills and furbelows; but no one
could look into her honest face above the trim little black lace
tucker, without realizing that she was of good, old-fashioned stock
which never would degenerate. No one but a lady born could take herself
so simply. Scott read Opdyke's approval in his eyes, the while he
himself stood apart and talked to Catie.

It was when young Opdyke's eyes passed on to rest on Catie, though,
that Scott felt certain doubts, lately risen up within him, crystallize
and solidify past all gainsaying. Outwardly, Opdyke's manner was
respect itself; but there was an odd little twinkle in his eyes, as he
gazed down on the top of Catie's flower-strewn hat, now tipped
coquettishly askew as the girl turned her head sidewise and upward to
speak to her tall companion. Catie was pretty, of course; but was she
quite--well--right? Were her manners, like the cut and colour of her
garments, a thought too pronounced and noticeable? Was her voice a
little bit too loud, her manner too assured? Or was i