“Katherine Adams!” repeated the voice, “don’t you know me?”
“Why—Veronica! Veronica Lehar!” gasped Katherine in amazement. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York.” She caught the little brown-gloved hands in her own big ones and squeezed them until Veronica winced.
“Katherine! Dear old K! How I’ve missed you!” Veronica cried rapturously, and drawing her hands from Katherine’s grip she flung her arms impulsively around her neck, regardless of the curious stares of the onlookers.
“Let them stare!” she murmured stoutly, seeing Katherine’s face flush with embarrassment as she encountered the quizzical gaze of a keen-eyed young man at the next table. “If they hadn’t seen their beloved K for nearly two years they’d want to hug her, too.”
She released Katherine after a final squeeze, and stood staring at her with a puzzled expression on her vivacious face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Katherine wonderingly. “Have I got something on wrong-side before?”
“That’s just what is the matter,” replied Veronica, her bewilderment also manifesting itself in her tone. “You haven’t anything on wrong-side before. You don’t look natural. What has happened to you?”
“Nothing,” replied Katherine, laughing, “and—everything. I’ve just learned that clothes do matter, after all.”
“Why, Katherine Adams, you’re perfectly stunning!” exclaimed Veronica in sincere admiration. “That shade of blue in your dress—it was simply made for you.”
“I just happened to get it by accident,” said Katherine deprecatingly, almost sheepishly, yet thrilled through and through with pleasure at Veronica’s words of appreciation. It was no small triumph to be admired by Veronica, whose highly artistic nature made her extremely critical of people’s appearance.