It was when she was in her room trying on the dress, to make sure that every hook and fastener was in place, and every fold and fall of lace was perfect, that somebody knocked on her door. It was Louise Bartholomew.
"Oh, how pretty!" Louise exclaimed from the threshold. "But I must say, Rebecca, you're getting scandalously extravagant. I never knew a woman to get so many summer clothes at the tail-end of the season. Are you busy?" she broke off. "May I come in?"
"Do come in. You know I'm never busy Saturday mornings. Do you really like the dress, Louise?" Reba asked, and then a little anxiously, "Don't you think the shade a little too deep?"
"Not a bit," briefly Louise replied, and crossed the room and sat down. "Come, Rebecca. Come and sit down a minute, please. I've come up to talk a little while."
Reba looked sharply at Louise Bartholomew, left the mirror, and sat down abruptly on the foot of the bed.
"News from Katherine Park?" she inquired in a frightened voice.
"Heavens, no!" Louise assured her. "Goodness! How you do worship Katherine. No—she's all right, for all I know." Then suddenly she blurted out, "Oh, I hate this job! I hate what I've got to say to you, Rebecca."
"Why, what do you mean? What have you got to say?"
"If only Katherine Park were here!" sighed Louise. "But then," she tucked in, "if she were, it probably wouldn't have to be said at all. You see, Miss Ells-
