The great house with its crystal lights, its damask walls, its bowls of flowers, was to remain always in Raquel’s mind as an incredible vision, somehow too beautiful for daily use. If school had seemed luxurious it now paled into simplicity beside the finished elegance of the Marvin house, where living was made a fine art. There was breakfast in bed the next morning on a tray that looked like a bed of Mom’s posies, sure enough. There was a maid to draw her bath, and slip her feet into red leather shoes, and throw a velvety red robe around her shoulders. “A guest gift from Mrs. Marvin, Miss,” she explained. Raquel didn’t see Anne until ten o’clock, when she came trailing in in great good spirits. “Shopping. You and me, Rakie. Come on, the car’ll be here in ten minutes.” There were shops and things such as Raquel had never dreamed of. And Anne looking at all sorts of clothes! That pink and flame georgette--oh, Raquel had never really wanted clothes like this before! The money Dad had given her--she had spent but a little of it yet, for her riding habit. This was the time to do it. She would get some new clothes to wear at Anne’s house. This novel idea was no sooner imparted to Anne than saleswomen came hurrying, and racks and chairs bloomed. Try them on? But of course.... Mademoiselle had an excellent straight back.... But she must not be stiff. But there, that was better. Relax. So! It was a different Raquel who emerged from that shop an hour later, in a simple suit of golden tan tweed, a jaunty hat of dark brown velour, and a Scotch heather top coat. And it was a vision in pale pink and flame-color, satin-shod, that descended the staircase in the Marvin home the next evening, Thanksgiving night. At the foot Barry Marvin, home for the holidays, fine and handsome in his uniform, waited for her--waited to take her in to dinner. “Oh, God,” prayed Raquel earnestly, “I can ride a bucking bronco, I can rope and tie a Latin verb, but, oh, God, please, don’t let me slip on the floors and disgrace myself before Anne’s family.” “What a pity the girls at school couldn’t see Raquel now,” thought Anne. If Lois could, she would either turn a little bit green or else come around generously, in the way her friends adored, and admit Raquel the equal of any girl at school, even if she couldn’t see her superiority when it wasn’t dressed up. But Lois was not to see Raquel in the chiffon gown. The flowering was but for a night. And there, too, Fate was to take a hand. For Barry Marvin carried away with him when he sailed for France that week the memory of a vivid dark face, lit from within with candles of happiness that seemed to warm to life an unexpected humor.... Or was it just the surprise of such penetrating honesty, such simple candor?