They laughed a little.
“No,” she said, “you have made me. You began to make me all over three months ago—oh, longer ago than that!—you began to remake me the first time you ever spoke to me—the first time you opened your door to me. That was nearly two years ago. And ever since I have been slowly becoming somebody quite new—inside and outside—until to-night, you see, I begin to look like my mother.” She smiled at him, drew a deep breath, closed the locket, dropped it on her breast.
“I mustn’t keep you,” she said. “I wanted to show 129 the picture—so you can understand what you have done for me to make me look like that.”
When Barres returned to the studio, freshened and groomed for the evening, he found Dulcie at the piano, playing the little song she had sung that morning, and singing the words under her breath. But she ceased as he came up, and swung around on the piano-stool to confront him with the most radiant smile he had ever seen on a human face.
“What a day this has been!” she said, clasping her hands tightly. “I simply cannot make it seem real.”
He laughed:
“It isn’t ended yet, either. There’s a night to every day, you know. And your graduation party will begin in a few moments.”
“I know. I’m fearfully excited. You’ll stay near me, won’t you?”
“You bet! Did I tell you who are coming? Well, then, you won’t feel strange, because I’ve merely asked two or three men who live in Dragon Court—men you see every day—Mr. Trenor, Mr. Mandel, and Mr. Westmore.”