eep-set eyes seemed to
portray a greater brain-power than that possessed by the rest of the
family. Theo had written stories for her own amusement since the age of
ten, and was even now engaged upon a full-fledged novel with which she
hoped to burst upon an astonished world. It seemed a horrible,
ghoul-like proceeding to examine her own feelings in order to be able to
depict what Veronica, her heroine, should feel in the hour of her
desolation; and she was disgusted with herself because, despite all
resolutions, she had been mentally taking notes during the whole of the
past week. Now, as she sat unpicking the pretty pink lining and casting
it ruthlessly on one side, her busy brain was weaving a simile by which
it appeared that all the brightness of life was left behind and nothing
remained but blackness and desolation.

By Philippa's side--adviser, assistant, and architect-in-chief--stood
golden-haired Hope, sweet as her name, and all unselfish anxiety for the
good of others. Her white forehead was wrinkled with the strain of
trying to induce two yards of silk to do duty for three, and she stood
at attention, staring down at the pattern spread over the black folds,
and rubbing her chin in solemn calculation as she discussed the knotty
point.

"If I were to make the yoke of something else, and let the silk come
from the arm-holes only, do you think we could manage it then? There is
some of that old black velvet that could be used for the yoke, and it
could be made to look very nice. I am afraid we couldn't match this
silk even if we tried."

"Don't want to try," said Philippa shortly. "Spent quite enough as it
is. Well, we shall either have to do it that way or make the sleeves of
another material to match the skirt.--Theo, it's for you. Which would
you rather have?"

"Don't care at all. Make it as you please; I take no interest in the
matter," replied Theo, turning her head elaborately in an opposite
direction and speaking in a tone of implied rebuke, which brought a
flash into Philippa's eyes.

"Then you _ought_ to take an interest! How are we to get on if no one
will say what she wants? We want to do our best for you, and it's not
much trouble just to say what you like, and help us to decide."

Theo looked round at that, and lo! her eyes were full of tears.

"I think it's hateful to think of clothes at all," she cried
passionately. "What does it matter _how_ they are made? Make me a sack
if you