ground of hills and sky. But then she didn't care how Crispin looked. Crispin was Crispin.
Miss Anne was saying, "When I get the right clothes on you, some of these boys are going to be crazy about you, Hildegarde."
Hildegarde laughed a little. "Will the clothes do it?"
"Not the clothes alone, of course. But with you in them. And if you will keep your hair long, I'm going to play up to it. Braids wound flat around your head as you did them last night—white dresses—pearls—lovely innocence. I'll make people look at you."
"I'm not sure I want to be looked at."
"Every girl does. Be honest with yourself, Hildegarde. It's a great help. Modesty is not modern. We blow our own trumpets even in our own minds."
There was no question but that Miss Anne's point of view was stimulating. Yet Hildegarde knew it would be hard to blow her own trumpet. Even in her own mind. There were so many times when she wasn't sure.
"The thing to do," Miss Anne was elucidating, "is to avoid an inferiority complex. If your mother hadn't had it, she would be here."
Hildegarde's startled eyes questioned.
"She felt that she wasn't as good as Louis—socially. Yet she had a grace of mind and body far beyond anything we Carews could hope for. Far beyond anything Corinne possessed."
"Corinne?"
"Didn't you know—? Louis' second wife?"
"No."
