Carmelita stepped out of the negligée she had been wearing in the effort to keep as cool as possible and turned on the cold tap in the bathroom shower. The water was not as icy as she could have wished it, but cascading down over her bare shoulders and her warm, boyish body it was gratefully refreshing. She rubbed herself pink with the bath-towel and felt better. Then she dressed becomingly in a plain afternoon costume, made herself up carefully, and, picking up her purse from the divan on her way out, walked to Fifth Avenue and boarded a 'bus going uptown to the fashionable shopping district.
Dudley was unusually late coming home from the office that night and he did not find Carmelita waiting for him in the semi-darkness of the living room, but beyond, their bedroom flooded with light. He stood in the doorway watching her, a wearied smile of admiration and perplexity on his lips. There were two long boxes lined with fluffy tissue on the bed behind her. New gowns. And before the mirror Carmelita, attired in a snappy white flannel sport suit, was observing the effect with critical pleasure. He did not blame her for her self-admiration. She looked stunning. At first, in her absorption in the gown, she did not notice his presence. But looking up and observing him and flushing a little
