“I look awful, don't I?” she said at last with a happy sigh.
Ally smiled and took back the hat. “I'll stitch the roses on right here, so's you can put it away at once.”
Charity laughed, and ran her fingers through her rough dark hair. She knew that Harney liked to see its reddish edges ruffled about her forehead and breaking into little rings at the nape. She sat down on her bed and watched Ally stoop over the hat with a careful frown.
“Don't you ever feel like going down to Nettleton for a day?” she asked.
Ally shook her head without looking up. “No, I always remember that awful time I went down with Julia—to that doctor's.”
“Oh, Ally——”
“I can't help it. The house is on the corner of Wing Street and Lake Avenue. The trolley from the station goes right by it, and the day the minister took us down to see those pictures I recognized it right off, and couldn't seem to see anything else. There's a big black sign with gold letters all across the front—'Private Consultations.' She came as near as anything to dying....”
“Poor Julia!” Charity sighed from the height of her purity and her security. She had a friend whom she trusted and who respected her. She was going with him to spend the next day—the Fourth of July—at Nettleton. Whose business was it but hers, and what was the harm? The pity of it was that girls like Julia did not know how to choose, and to keep bad fellows at a distance.... Charity slipped down from the bed, and stretched out her hands.
“Is it sewed? Let me try it on again.” She put the hat on, and smiled at her image. The thought of Julia had vanished....
The next morning she was up before dawn, and saw the yellow sunrise broaden behind the hills, and the silvery luster preceding a hot day tremble across the sleeping fields.