Viola could boast of a well-filled trunk of stylish clothes, and in no other place, of the many she had visited during her vacation, had this wardrobe shown to such advantage as in Dalton. Even the attractive linens that Alice was invariably gowned in (except on Sundays, when she wore a simple summer silk), seemed of "back date" compared with the showy dresses Viola exhibited. They were stylish in that acceptance of the term that made them popular, but were not distinctive, and would probably be entirely out of date by the following summer.
On this particular afternoon Viola wore a deep blue crepe with shaded ribbons, a dress, according to the feminine ethics of Dalton, "fit for a party."
Tom Burbank sported white flannels, a very good summer suit indeed, but a little out of the ordinary in Dalton. It was not to be wondered at, then, that the appearance of these two strangers attracted some attention on the Green. Neither could it be doubted that such attention was flattering to Viola, a stylishly dressed girl often enjoys being credited with her efforts.
"Wasn't that the greatest," Tom was drawling to Viola, "about those folks riding in the police wagon."
"Disgraceful, I should say," replied Viola, emphatically.
"And the fellow in the—farmer's duds. Wasn't he a sight?" and the young man chuckled at the thought of Nat in the overalls and jumper.
"And those two girls are going to Glenwood—the boarding school I attend!" and Viola's lip curled in hauteur.
"The dickens they are! I—beg your pardon, but I was so surprised," said Tom.
"I don't blame you. I was equally surprised myself. In fact, I guess everyone was—they made up their minds so suddenly. I suppose—" Then Viola stopped.
"Well, what do you suppose?"