Several other customers had entered Madame Louise’s establishment.

Harriet Hamlin flushed at the dressmaker’s question.  But she replied carelessly:  “Oh, yes; I shall be in all the afternoon.  You can send them at any time you like.”

Before Mollie and Harriet had gotten out into the street, Mollie clutched Harriet’s arm in swift remorse.  “Oh, Harriet, dear, I have done a perfectly awful thing!  I must go back and tell Madame that I cannot take that gown.  I don’t see how I could have said I would take it.  Why, it will take me ages to pay you so much money!” Mollie’s eyes were big and frightened.  Her lips were trembling.

“Sh-sh!  You silly child!” Harriet protested.  “Here comes Mrs. Wilson.  You can’t go to tell Madame Louise you have changed your mind before so many people.  And what is the use of worrying over such a small debt?  The dress was a wonderful bargain.  You would be a goose not to buy it.”

Now, because Harriet was older than Mollie, and Mollie thought her very beautiful and well trained in all the graces of society, foolish little Mollie allowed herself to be silenced, and so made endless trouble for herself and for the people who loved her.

“Don’t tell Barbara about my buying the frock, Harriet,” Mollie pleaded, as the two girls went up the steps of the Hamlin home, a short time before luncheon.  “I would rather tell Bab about it myself, when I get a chance.”

“Oh, I won’t tell.  You may count on me,” promised Harriet, in sympathetic tones.  “Will Bab be very cross!”

“Oh, not exactly that,” Mollie hesitated.  “But I am afraid she will be worried.  I am glad we are at home.  I want to lie down, I feel so tired.”

Not long after Harriet and Mollie had started off on their shopping expedition, Bab came across from her room into Ruth’s.

“Ruth, do you think I could telephone Mr. Dillon?” she asked.  “I picked up a piece of paper that he dropped in the garden yesterday, and I forgot to return it to him.”

“Give it to me, child.  I told you yesterday that I did not wish you to grow to be an intimate friend of that man.  But I am writing him a note to thank him for his kindness to us last night.  I can just put your paper in my letter and explain matters to him.”

Bab carelessly tossed the sheet of paper on Ruth’s desk.  It opened, and Ruth cried out in astonishment.  “Oh, Bab, how queer!  This note is written in Chinese characters.  What do you suppose Peter Dillon is doing with a letter written in Chinese?”

“I don’t know I am sure, Ruth,” Bab demurred.  “It is none of our business.”

“Did you get the yellow ribbon, Mollie?” Barbara asked her sister, two hours later, when Mollie and Harriet came in from their shopping.  “I have been fixing up your dress all morning.  It is awfully pretty.  Now I want to make the sash.”

“I did not get any ribbons, Bab.”  Mollie answered peevishly.  “I told you I would not wear that old yellow dress.”