“Oh, indeed! How thoughtful! Well, just before I woke, I had a dream. I saw the bright-eyed goddess long enough to get a crack of her wand over the head, and she looked like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yes, your eyes are bright and blue, your complexion is what the novelists call dazzling, your hair is long and like the bearded corn when it is ripe. So was hers. The goddess wore a white dress. So do you.”
“I always wear white,” said Dora, simply. “When I was a baby, my mother consecrated me to the Blessed Virgin.”
“What, are you a Catholic, Dora?”
“Yes, Clarence; and mama kept me dressed in white with a blue sash till I was seven years of age. Then I made my First Communion. On that day, I told Our Lord that I would stick to the blue and the white as long as I could.”
“So you dress to please the Blessed Virgin?” queried the startled boy.
They were standing beside the fire, and the flames lighting up the girl’s features added to the glow of enthusiasm which had come upon her face as she spoke of the blue and the white.
“I wish I could say I did,” she made humble answer. “Sometimes I feel that I’m thinking too much of how I look. I hope it isn’t a sin to want to look pretty.”
“Of course, it isn’t,” returned Clarence, promptly. “Why, I’m troubled that way myself.”