Brenda threw herself into the preparations for the Festival as if she had no other interest in the world. She was to be a principal figure in the group that Ralph had arranged. With an artist's sense of beauty, and an accuracy that no one had ever before suspected, Ralph planned the costumes, and insisted that they should deviate in no particular from his design. To effect this proved an unending occupation for Brenda and Agnes.
"There's one thing, Ralph, that has come out of this," said his wife one day after he had given her a lecture on the unsuitability of certain trimmings that she had selected. "After this I shall never worry about our future."
"Have you been doing so?" he asked in some surprise.
"Well, I have had misgivings as to what might happen if you should become blind, or if your pictures should fail to sell, or if Papa should lose his money, or—"
"How many more 'ifs,'" he asked; "I had no idea that you were a borrower of trouble. What have I done to deserve this thoughtfulness, or perhaps I should say thoughtlessness, on your part; for you say that now you have ceased to worry."
"Why, I am sure that you could transform yourself into a man milliner; in fact, I'm not sure that I may not try to persuade you to change to a more lucrative profession than that of a mere painter of portraits. From the very way in which you hold that little pincushion under your arm, I am sure that you would be a great success."
Ralph only smiled as he snipped a bit from the end of a velvet train. Then he moved off a little, that he might survey his work from a distance.
"It looks like a milliner's shop," said Brenda, pointing to the litter of silk and velvets, embroideries and fur, strewn over chairs, tables, and divan.
"Yes, and I feel much as if I were waiting for customers. I believe, however, that no more are expected this afternoon. I can therefore attend to my mail orders. Tom Hearst, by the way, is coming on, and I am designing something for him."
"Well, if Tom can spare the time, I should think that Arthur might."