THE VERY TIRED GIRL
ing, and her slender figure deeply wrapped in a wondrous covert coat.
Rhoda Hanlan and Ruth MacLaurin were close behind her, much more prosaically garnished in golf capes and brown-colored mufflers. The Political Economist stood by on the stairs to let them pass, and Noreen looked back at him and called out gaily:
"It's lots of fun to be engaged. We're all enjoying it very much. It's bully!"
The next time he saw her she was on her way downstairs to the parlor, in a long-tailed, soft, black evening gown that bothered her a bit about managing. Her dark hair was piled up high on her head, and she had the same mischievous, amateur-theatrical charm that the blue chiffon veil and covert coat had given her.
Quite frankly she demanded the Political Econ omist's appreciation of her appearance.
"Just see how nice I can look when I really try?" she challenged him, "but it took me all day to do it, and my work went to smash—and my dress cost seventy dollars," she finished wryly.
But the Political Economist was surly about his compliment.
"No, I like you better in your little business suit," he attested gruffly. And he lied, and he knew that he lied, for never before had he seen the shrewd
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