“How silly you look, Violet, always in white, like a great baby! Have you no colored gowns?”
“Dozens of them, Amber, but I like my white gowns better these sweet, warm summer days.”
“My India silk is just as cool,” cried Amber, smoothing down the soft folds of green flowered silk with her dainty, jeweled hands.
Only last evening she had heard Cecil Grant declare that a pretty girl always looked angelic in white, and that was why the storm had burst on Violet’s head to-day.
But, all unconscious of her cousin’s bitter jealousy, the lovely girl shook back her golden locks and answered, smilingly:
“I like my white gowns better.”
Amber’s eyes grew dark with hate for her pretty cousin, and she flashed out, angrily:
“You wear them to please my handsome lover, Cecil Grant, because he said white gowns were pretty! You are trying to steal him from me!”
Gentle Violet stared at her angry cousin with wondering blue eyes and cried, breathlessly:
“I did not know you claimed Cecil for your lover, Amber, for I thought—thought——”