"Got something for you--if you want them," the young man said, in a low voice. "What is it?" she queried. "Open the door and see," and he laughed a little nervously. Frances drew her gown closer about her throat, and turned the knob. Instantly a great bunch of fragrant little blossoms--the wild-flowers so hard to find on the plains and in the foothills--were thrust into her hands. "Oh, _Pratt!_" shrieked the girl in delight. She clasped the blossoms to her bosom; she buried her face in them. Pratt watched her with smiling lips, and wonderingly. How pretty and girlish she was! The grown-up air that responsibilities had lent her fell away like a cloak. She was just a simple, enthusiastic, delighted girl, after all! "Like them?" asked the young man, laconically. "I _love_ them!" Frances declared. Pratt was thinking how wonderful it was that a girl could seize a big bunch of posies like that, and hug them, and press them to her face, and still not crush the fragile things. "Why," he thought, "I've had to handle them like eggs all the way here, to keep from spoiling them beyond repair. Aren't girls wonders?" You see, Pratt Sanderson was beginning to be interested in the mysteries of the opposite sex. "Run away now, like a good boy," she said to him, as she had to her father, and closed the door once more. She ran to her bathroom and filled two vases with water and put the flower stems in, that they might drink and keep the blossoms fresh. Then, with a lighter air and tread, she went about her dressing for the party. She put up her hair, deftly copying the fashion that Sue Latrop--that mirror of Eastern fashion--affected. And the new mode became Frances vastly. Her new dress--the one she had had made for the pageant--had already come home from the city dressmaker who had her measurements. She spread it upon the bed and got her skirts and other linen. Half an hour later she was out of her bath and ready for the dress itself. It went on and fitted perfectly. "I am sure anybody must admire this," she told herself. She was sure that none of the girls at the dinner and dance would be more fitly dressed than herself--if she stopped right here! But now she returned to the dresser and looked at the blazing gems from the old Spanish chest. If only daddy did not want her to wear them! A ring, one bracelet, possibly the brooch. She might wear those without shocking good taste. All were beautiful; but the heavy settings, the great belt of gold and emeralds, the necklace of sparkling brilliants--all, all were too rich and too startling for a girl of her age, and well Frances knew it. With sinking heart and trembling fingers she adorned herself with the heaviest weight of trouble she had ever borne. A little later she descended the stairs, slowly, regally, bearing her head erect, and looking like a little tragedy queen as she appeared in the soft evening glow at the foot of the stairs.