It was almost worth while leading a life of all work and no play for six weeks on end, for the sheer delight of being frivolous once more; of dressing oneself in one's prettiest frock, drawing on filmy silk stockings and golden shoes, clasping a pearl necklace round a white throat and cocking a feathery aigrette at just the right angle among coppery swathes of hair. No single detail was wanting to complete the whole, for in the old careless days Claire's garments had been purchased with a lavish hand, the only anxiety being to secure the most becoming specimen of its kind. There were long crinkly gloves, and a lace handkerchief, and a fan composed of curling feathers and mother-of-pearl sticks, and a dainty bag hanging by golden cords, and a cloak of the newest shape, composed of layers of different-tinted chiffons, which looked more like a cloud at sunset than a garment manufactured by human hands and supposed to be of use! Claire tilted her little mirror to an acute angle, gave a little skip of delight as she surveyed the completed whole, and then whirled down the narrow staircase, a flying mist of draperies, through which the little gold-clad feet gleamed in and out. She whirled into the sitting-room, where the solitary lamp stood on the table, and Cecil lay on the humpy green plush sofa reading a novel from the Free Library. She put down the book and stared with wide eyes as Claire gave an extra whirl for her benefit, and cried jubilantly-- "Admire me! Admire me! I'm dying to be admired! Don't I look fine, and smart, and unsuitable! Will any one in the world mistake me for a High School-mistress!" Cecil rose from the sofa, and made a solemn tour of inspection. Obviously she was impressed, obviously she admired, obviously also she found something startling in her inspection. There was pure feminine interest in the manner in which she fingered each delicate fabric in turn, there was pure feminine kindness in the little pat on the arm which announced the close of the inspection. "My dear, it's ripping! Rich and rare isn't in it. You look a dream. Poor kiddie! If this is the sort of thing you've been used to, it's been harder for you than I thought! Yes, horribly unsuitable, and when it's worn-out, you'll never be able to have another like it. White ponge will be your next effort." "Bless your heart, I've three others just as fine, and these skimpy skirts last for an age. No chance of any one planting a great foot on the folds and tearing them to ribbons as in the old days. There _are_ no folds to tread on." But Cecil as usual was ready with her croak. "Next year," she said darkly, "there will be flounces. Before you have a chance of wearing your four dresses, everybody will be fussy and frilly, and they'll be hopelessly out of date." "Then I'll cut up two and turn them into flounces to fuss out the others!" cried Claire, the optimist, and gave another caper from sheer lightness of heart. "How do you like my feet?"