“You won’t see us again until seven o’clock to-night, Mr. Moore,” Miss Campbell had said. “And then you may not know us, we shall be so transformed with soap and water.”
“I may have news for you by then,” he said, as they separated at the elevator.
And that was the last they were to see of Daniel Moore for many a day to come.
“I suppose butterflies feel about as we do,” observed Nancy that evening as they filed down to dinner.
“Meaning when they cease to be worms and appear clothed in fine raiment,” asked Billie.
“Not so very fine,” answered Nancy, fingering a streamer of her pink sash with a tender touch, as she glanced complaisantly down at her lingerie frock.
Billie laughed teasingly.
“Little butterfly,” she said, “is there anything; you like better than pretty clothes?”
Nancy pouted and smiled.