"And you're going to do it too," says Mr. Leavitt. "You can afford to have the best there is,--a Paris frock, and the things that go with it. I mean you shall, not for my sake, but for your own. You're a wonderful woman, Sallie, and you ought to know it for once in your life. I want my cousin to know it too. You've not only got more brains than most women, but you're mighty good looking, and in the proper clothes you could hold up your head in any company." "Pshaw!" says Mrs. Leavitt, almost blushin'. "Right before Mr. McCabe too!" "Well, isn't it so?" demands Mr. Leavitt, turnin' to me. "Why--er--of course it is," says I. I tried to make it enthusiastic, and if it come out a little draggy it must have been on account of that ancient lid of hers that's hangin' in full view on one of the bedposts. As a matter of fact, she's one of these straight-built, husky, well-colored dames, with fairly good lines in spite of what the village dressmaker had done to her. "There!" says Mr. Leavitt. "Now let's have no more talk of going home. Let's go out and get the clothes right now. Perhaps Mr. McCabe can show us where we can buy the right things." "Land sakes! What a man you are, Mr. Leavitt!" says Sallie, weakenin' a little. Five minutes more of that kind of talk, and he'd got her to tie on her bonnet. Then, with me leadin' the way and him urgin' her on from behind, we starts on our shoppin' expedition. "It's to be a complete outfit, from the ground up, ain't it?" says I. "That's it," says Mr. Leavitt. So, instead of botherin' with any department stores, I steers 'em straight for Madame Laplante's, where they set you back hard, but can furnish a whole trousseau, I'm told, at an hour's notice. Mrs. Leavitt was still protestin' that maybe she wouldn't do any more than look at the things, and how she wouldn't promise to wear 'em even if she did buy a few; but you know what smooth salesladies they have in such places. When I left two of 'em was gushin' over Mrs. Leavitt's chestnut-tinted hair that she had piled up in slick coils under the bonnet, and a third was runnin' a tape over her skillful. If it had been anybody but Mrs. Sallie Leavitt, I'd have hated to take chances on havin' to write the check when it was all over. "Well, is she coming?" asks Sadie that night. "Search me," says I. "I wouldn't bet a nickel either way." That was Wednesday. All day Thursday I was expectin' to be called in again, or hear that Sallie had made a break back for Vermont. But not a word. Nor on Friday, either. So at seven o'clock that night, as we collected in the Twombley-Cranes' drawin' room, there was some suspense; for at least half of us were wise to the situation. At seven-fifteen, though, they arrives.