Saying this Minga unwittingly put her finger on what is half truth, that is, that it is the Puritanical people of the world who emphasize the harm that is done by vulgar thinking and dressing. The prudish people think more about vulgarity than the vulgar themselves. The way to kill such things is to ignore. The fashion, when it has become a fashion, ceases to be notable, or even challenging. But its dubious life is prolonged by those who seek to curb it. Miss Aurelia, with many murmured doubts and misgivings, now took Sard's frock out of its tissue paper and pasteboard box. With it went a violet sash and violet slippers that Minga scrutinized rather disparagingly. "She ought to have scarlet slippers and scarlet stockings with that yellow." "It wouldn't be good taste," said Sard shortly. "But it would be noticed," replied her friend archly, "and you have nice legs, Sard. Now, Aunt Reely," Minga held up an accusing finger, "don't pretend you don't know that. You do know that Sard has nice legs; so does Judgie, so does Dunstan. Why shouldn't the world know?" So the conference on evening dress broke up amid Miss Aurelia's doubts and fears and distressed sense of legs. Minga leading, the girls climbed the tower room stairs, half restraining their giggles. "If I come down to dinner in that frock Judgie will send me to bed without my supper," Minga prophesied; "just the same, he will take several long looks to be sure he is right." The restless tongue wagged on until Minga became conscious that her comrade was not listening to her. She glanced at Sard staring out of the window and remembered what they had climbed up here for. "Now tell me about this queer critter you've got out there. You call him Colter. I'd have been willing to bet my engagement ring that was not his real name. His real name," said Minga, "is Lancelot Humbug." Sard, twisting the shade cord, slowly shook her head. "How do we know?" she murmured. "He isn't anything we think he is. I mean what he's supposed to be, but," she looked quickly at Minga, then away, "I've come to the point where I'd rather not know anything. There might be something awful." The girl shivered slightly. "How do I know?" she repeated. Sard turned eagerly to her friend. "Minga, do you get things, have them come to you, without thinking? Do you ever just know things through and through without being told, you know, sort of sense a thing?" Minga, going to the dressing-table and taking the ivory-backed nail buffer, searched about for some polishing powder. "When you start off like that," the girl remarked, "I always find some light hand labor. Go on, Sard, honey; I can get my nails beautifully done while you give me the last Sard-slush."