“Though I think,” she confided to Baron on one occasion, “I could get hold of the high places without going through all the funny business she seems to regard so highly.”
Baron spoke in defense of the “funny business,” and presently she agreed with him.
The guest’s wardrobe had been made gloriously complete, and in this relationship another pleasant development was to be noted.
Bonnie May had been painfully accustomed to the use of trunks. Now she made the acquaintance of bureau drawers, and her delight was unbounded. She spent hours in arranging her things. She won Flora’s genuine applause by her skill and taste in this matter.
Flora bought her a hat.
She looked at it in a queerly detached manner for an instant. “Oh, a hat,” she commented. She might have been repeating a word spoken by a travel-lecturer, describing some interesting place which did not seem to concern her. It appeared that she never had owned a hat.
She put it on before the glass. “Oh!” she cried. She thrust impulsive arms about Flora’s neck and hugged her.
Flora enjoyed that experience so much that she bought another hat which she described as “unmade.” Ribbons of gay colors, and white lace, and little silk flowers of various hues, came with it, and the child was given these materials to experiment with as she pleased. Flora gave advice, and was ready with assistance.
Again the result was interesting. Bonnie May experienced a joy which was rapt, almost tremulous in quality. A desert-bred bird, coming upon an oasis, might have regarded its surroundings with the same incredulous rapture.
Baron’s room became hers permanently, and here she developed a keen delight in “housekeeping.” Here also she received Mrs. Baron and Flora as guests, and amazed them by her performance of the part of hostess.