For a moment Juno did not speak. This little human craft was battling with conflicting currents and there seemed no pilot in sight. Then she turned suddenly and placing her arms about Mrs. Harold, laid her head upon the shoulder which had comforted so many and began to sob softly.
"My little girl! My dear, dear little girl, do not take it so deeply to heart. I did not mean to wound you so cruelly. Forgive me, dear."
"You haven't wounded me. It isn't that. But I—I—don't seem to know where I'm at. No one has ever spoken to me in this way. I'm often scolded and lectured and stormed at, but no one cares enough to make me understand. Please show me how. Please tell me. It seems like a glimpse into a different world."
"First let me dry the tears I have been the cause of bringing to your eyes—if my boys see traces of them I shall be brought to an account. Then we will remedy what might have done harm."
As she spoke Mrs. Harold took a bit of absorbent cotton, soaked it in rose water and bathed the lovely soft, brown eyes. Juno smiled up at her, then nestled against her, again.
"My new little foster-daughter," said Mrs. Harold, kissing the velvety cheeks.
"'It's beauty, truly blent, whose red and white,
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.'
Keep it so—it needs no aid—we shall learn to know each other better. You will come again—yes, often—and where I can help, count upon me—always? And now I'll play maid."
Ten minutes later when Juno entered the living-room, an exquisite bit of Venetian lace filled in the V at the back of the bodice; the softest white maline edged the front, and when, she raised her train a lace petticoat which any girl would have pronounced "too sweet for words" floated like sea-foam about her slender ankles.
No comments were made and all set forth for the hop. And was the experiment a red letter one? Well!