coast. That was the way she put it, and I took her to Madame Boulangeat! She had given me to understand that money was the one thing she had in abundance—only had to sign her name—and what she wanted most in the world was to know how to exchange part of it wisely for other kinds of wealth—not only clothes, but good times, and interests. I had such plans for enriching her! I was so interested! You can't imagine how responsive she was to anything I suggested. It was like working on a canvas with every stroke of your brush inspired—true and perfect—promising you a masterpiece. Something like that. Why, I had a kind of sneaking notion that she would be one of our masterpieces! And then about a week ago, her eyes suddenly left off shining, her voice lost that little note of impulsiveness, and there was no more of that eagerness, nor pretty embarrassed enthusiasm about her. Oh, if I have helped her to squander her tiny fortune on mere clothes—if I have made such an error in judgment, then I don't deserve my position!"
"Nonsense," comforted Miss Bartholomew. "Don't worry. She probably considers her money well spent. No doubt she's going back to Skidunkville to make the impression of her life in her grand folderols."
"No," gravely Katherine Park replied, shaking her head.
"Or," suggested the resourceful Miss Bartholomew, "perhaps she's going to be married in the wonderful costume. Never can tell about these close-mouthed New Englanders—what their motives are. I'm glad I'm Pennsylvanian."
Katherine Park continued staring into space, still
