"Her sister, Ida, makes them. She told me so when she came here to ask me to take Miss Ward into Harlowe House. She is a very pretty girl, isn't she?"
Kathleen nodded. "How are things at Harlowe House?" she inquired irrelevantly.
"Going beautifully. I told you about our club didn't I?"
"Not a word. I haven't seen you for a week."
The newspaper girl listened interestedly to Grace's account of the club. "It would make a good story for my paper," she commented. "How about it, Grace?"
"You're welcome to it if the girls don't object. Suppose you come as a guest to our next meeting and ask their permission."
"I'll do it," promised Kathleen.
Mary Reynolds received and accepted Kathleen's invitation to the reception with unmistakable joy. Grace had sent home for a pink silk evening gown, which she had worn but little, and fairly forced it, with slippers, stockings and gloves, upon the reluctant Mary, with the plea that pink was not her color and therefore she never wore the frock. Aside from shortening it, it had needed little alteration, and when the night of the sophomore reception arrived, Kathleen appeared, an hour before the time to start for the dance, to help Mary dress. She brought a cluster of pinky-white roses and a pink chiffon scarf, which, she diplomatically insisted, did not go well with any of her gowns and exactly matched Mary's.
"I can't believe that I am I," Mary said happily, as she viewed herself wonderingly in the round dressing-table mirror. She clasped her thin, childish hands impulsively together. "I wish every girl in the world had such good friends and pretty clothes as I have!"
"I hope no one has such elusive hooks and eyes on their clothes as I have," grumbled Emma Dean, who had appeared in the doorway in time to hear Mary's heartfelt remark. "I have permanently dislocated one shoulder and ruined the charming curves of both my elbows forever, in a vain, but valiant, effort to unite one miserable hook and eye, which I'm sure the dressmaker purposely sewed out of my reach."