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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 165 pages of information about Jane Allen, Junior.

Bobbie was responsible for the color scheme adopted by her chum, and its success was just now rather inadequately reflected in the conventional mirror that formed a door to the narrow wardrobe.  Sally was gowned in gold and white, and the gold of her hair completed the “dream.”  A big yellow butterfly she was indeed, with the sleazy, clinging, white draperies wound around her slender form, then the wings of golden maline pinioned on either softly rounded shoulder.  Sally was a perfect little beauty, and also possessed that whimsical manner so attractive in this delicate, fragile type.

“How do I look, anyhow?” asked Bobbie, and the “anyhow” betrayed her hopelessness.

“Don’t you really know you are stunning?” replied Sally.  “Bobbie, your height and figure are in such splendid accord with that American Beauty!  Whew, girl!  I can see who shall charm the partners tonight.”

“Do I honestly look—­well?” persisted the other.  “I wish my hair were long enough to turn up.”

“I don’t.  It is so becoming in that halo just as round as a crown, and more curly every minute.  If all misfortunes really have their compensations, then, Bobbie, put down the curls opposite your accident.”

The big girl peered closer to the mirror.  She never could be vain but just now she might be pardoned a flicker of satisfaction.  She did look well, the American Beauty satin made such a startling background for her peculiarly true American type.

“Now, if we are all primped and preened, suppose we rehearse,” said Bobbie, powdering the last finger of her left hand to a finish.  “You are sure Ted has his lesson all clear and that our—­masquerade will not be spoiled?”

“He was just wild about the lark, and wrote a whole page of effusions such as boys always indulge in,” replied Sally.  “He says he may stick to Barrett for a name, it has such a twangy sound, whatever that may mean; and he also promised to be led by us even to the extent of breaking his own gay heart.”

“Nice boy.  I hope our little skit won’t spoil his fun.  It is just for that, you know, little chum, I have agreed to postpone my flight.  But be sure of one thing—­I shall fly before I ever face that wonderful crowd of girls we were with last night, after the discovery.”

“Does it all seem so hideous still?” asked Sally.  “I have felt as if some of the black horror were wearing off.”

“Mine is turning green—­a dark, dark moldy green of envy.  Why didn’t I know four months ago just a few of the precious things I see so vividly now?” Bobbie sat down at the risk of spoiling some of her preening.  Also she ruffed her long (now well cared for) fingers through her short hair with distracting indifference, but not a ringlet showed any ill effects, each fell back on her broad, low forehead in its original place, without a kink of disorder in the line.

“I have learned more than the Wellington course offered,” said Sally, “and one thing I am now sure of.  Our small towns may offer advantages in freedom and security, but they restrict us in a choice of friends and companions.  How could we possibly have guessed that the very girl and her group we expected to antagonize should be our deliverers?”

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