She tried it, turned and faced Miss Anne. "Does that look as if I came out of the Ark? Does it?"
"It looks adorable."
Miss Anne had a little leap of the heart as she saw that silver-shining figure in the mirror—the youth of it—the likeness to her own happy self so many years ago!
"I shall dress you to suit your type," she said presently. "In that mauve and silver you are like a lilac in the spring."
Again Hildegarde's face was anxious. "Do you mean that you want me to wear colors?"
"Of course. You're too young for black."
"No, I'm not. And I won't take it off. It would be like forgetting mother."
The scene at the farm swept back to Hildegarde—all the women talking together, and herself sitting on the high hard sofa. She felt that what she had not conceded to her mother's sisters she must not concede to this sister of her father.
"I had it out with father on the train this morning," she told her aunt breathlessly. "I am afraid he was terribly upset, and I'm sorry. But I told him that if he made me take off my black dresses, I'd go back to my aunts."
Miss Anne stared at her. "You did. My dear, he'll adore you. Opposition whets his appetite."
"Well, I didn't do it for that. I loved mother, and I told him so. And—and I told him that if he couldn't mourn, I'd have to do it for both of us."
Miss Anne surveyed her with satisfaction. "I'll dress you in black now if the heavens fall. Louis has
