Curls go with these frills; slippers, too--look!"
Then she glanced up at Conning.
"Do you think I'm very--frivolous?" she asked.
"I never knew"--he was gazing seriously at her--"how handsome you are,
Lyn. Wear that gown morning, noon and night; it's stunning."
"I'm glad you both like it. I feel a little unusual in it--but I'll
settle down. I have been a trifle prim in dress."
Like the giant's robe, Lynda Kendall's garments seemed to transform her
and endow her with the attributes peculiar to themselves. So gradually,
that it caused no wonder, she developed the blessed gift of charm and it
coloured life for herself and others like a glow from a hidden fire.
All this did not interfere with her business. Once she donned her
working garb she was the capable Lynda of the past. A little more
sentiment, perhaps, appeared in her designs--a wider conception; but
that was natural, for happiness had come to her--and a delicious sense
of success. She, womanlike, began to rejoice in her power. She heard of
John Morrell's marriage to a young western girl, about this time, with
genuine delight. Her sky was clearing of all regrets.
"Morrell was in the office to-day," Brace told his sister one evening,
"it seemed to me a bit brash for him to lay it on so thick about his
happiness and all that sort of rot."
"Brace!"
"Well, it might be all right to another fellow, but it sounded out of
tune, somehow, to me.
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