Two days before the reception she took Rachel and Katherine into her confidence about Helen’s dress.
“You see if I could only look at it, maybe I could show her how to fix it up,” she explained, “but I’m afraid to ask. I’m pretty sure she’s sensitive about her looks and her clothes. I should want to be told if I was such a fright, but maybe she’s happier without knowing.”
“She can’t help knowing if she stays here long,” said Rachel.
“Why don’t you get out your dress, and then perhaps she’ll show hers,” suggested Katherine.
“I could do that,” assented Betty doubtfully. “I could find a place to mend, I guess. Chiffon tears so easily.”
“Good idea,” said Rachel heartily. “Try that, and then if she doesn’t bite you’d better let things take their course. But it is too bad to have her go looking like a frump, after all the trouble we’ve taken with her dancing.”
Betty went back to her room, sat down at her desk and began again at her Livy. “For I might as well finish this first,” she thought; and it was half an hour before she shut the scarlet-covered book with a slam and announced somewhat ostentatiously that she had finished her Latin lesson.
“And now I must mend my dress for the reception,” she went on consciously. “Mother is always cautioning me not to wait till the last minute to fix things.”
“Did you look up all the constructions in the Livy?” asked Helen. Betty was so annoyingly quick about everything.
“No,” returned Betty cheerfully from the closet, where she was rummaging for her dress. “I shall guess at those. Why don’t you try it? Oh, dear! This is dreadfully mussed,” and she appeared in the closet door with a fluffy white skirt over her arm.