the carnation—and between them nothing, in spite of all her efforts.
The day drew near. In Mrs. Caine's bedroom Miss Plympton knelt to fit Christabel's wedding-gown.
"It's all wrong—everything's wrong! Look at this line! Just look at it! The whole idea was simplicity, not these disgusting little puckers and fullnesses!"
"I'm sorry, Miss Christabel. It was the way it was pinned up, and I thought we decided that was the way we wanted it."
"Don't work yourself up, darling. You're overtired."
Yes, she was tired. She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples.
"It will be all right."
"Mother, what is the use of saying it will be all right when it's all wrong?"
"If you could just hold still while I rip out the gathers, Miss Christabel, then we could drape it just the way you want."
Christabel gave a loud, exasperated sigh,
