Hence, when the morning of the event dawned, Mrs. Thomaston was more fluttering than ever, solicitous in her concern to learn whether her “lovely baby” had spent a comfortable night and whether she, pining mother, might aid Marcia in dressing for the festivities. Quite unconcerned was the lovely girl; she preened herself and, glorying in the reflection of her mirror, said, “Mamma, I’ll have Marie help me dress. You needn’t bother.”

“Well, if you’re sure-”

“I’m very sure… it would only annoy me to have you around, Mamma,” said Marcia, with a touch of impatience in her cool voice.’

Helplessly, her mother paused, then, seeing how set her daughter was, sighed and left the room.

Marcia rang the inlaid mother-of-pearl button at the: side of her dressing table for her lovely blond young maid, Marie.

It was a few moments before the pretty girl, daintily dressed in the traditional black shirtwaist and white apron of a French soubrette, her slim legs molded deliciously in black sheer mesh, her feet thrust into dainty black pumps with two-inch-heels of an extreme narrowness, made her entry into the apartment of the languid Marcia, who sat before her beautifully ornamented boudoir table, whose vast oval mirror imaged her disdainful loveliness with fastidious purity.

Marcia turned her head and her lips curled with scorn, for she found the young girl-a year younger than she-much too meek and servile in her dutiful attentions.

“Well, it took you long enough, I must say! Don’t you realize I’ve an important day ahead of me?” she exclaimed resentfully.

“Pardon, Mademoiselle Marcia, but your mother stopped me to ask me something,” murmured the blond girl placatingly.

Marcia sniffed in open suspicion.

“Well, then, suppose you do my hair first, then we’ll see about the clothes, Marie. And be very careful. I’m in a bad temper today!”