These outward manifestations, however, were insignificant compared with the evidences of Miss Lucinda’s inner guilt.  She was taking the keenest interest in the manicure’s progress, only lifting her eyes occasionally to survey herself with satisfaction in the mirror opposite.

At first her sense of propriety had been deeply offended by her changed appearance.  She wept so bitterly that the girls, seeking to console her, had overdone the matter.

“I never thought you could look so pretty,” Floss had declared; “you look ten years younger.  It makes your eyes brighter and your skin clearer.  Of course this awfully bright color will wear off, and then it will be just dear.”

Miss Lucinda began to feel better; she even allowed May to arrange her changed locks in a modest pompadour.

The week she had spent in New York was a riotous round of dissipation.  May’s fiance had prepared a whirlwind of pleasures, and Miss Lucinda was caught up and revolved at a pace that made her dizzy.  Dances, dinners, plays, roof-gardens, coaching parties, were all held together by a line of candy, telegrams, and roses.

There was only one time in the day when Miss Lucinda came down to earth.  Every evening, no matter how exhausted she might he from the frivolities of the day, she conscientiously penned an affectionate letter to her celestial affinity, expressing her undying devotion, and incidentally mentioning the health and doings of her brother’s family.  These she sent under separate cover to her brother to be mailed.

Her conscience assured her that the reckoning would come, that sooner or later she would face the bar of justice and receive the verdict of guilty; but while one day of grace remained, she would still “in the fire of spring, her winter garments of repentance fling.”

As the manicure put the finishing touch to her nails, Floss came rushing in: 

“Hurry up, Miss Lucy dear!  Dick Benson has just ’phoned that he is going to take us for a farewell frolic.  We leave here at five, have dinner somewhere, then do all sorts of stunts.  You are going to wear my tan coat-suit and light blue waist.  Yes, you are, too!  That’s all foolishness; everybody wears elbow-sleeves.  Blue’s your color, and I’ve got the hat to match.  May says she’ll fix your hair, and you can wear her French-heel Oxfords again.  They pitch you over?  Oh, nonsense! you just tripped along the other day like a nice little jay-bird.  Hurry, hurry!”

Even Miss Lucinda’s week of strenuous living had not prepared her for what followed.  First, there was a short trip on the train, during which she conscientiously studied a map.  Then followed a dinner at a large and ostentatious hotel.  The decorations were more brilliant, the music louder, and the dresses gayer, than at any place Miss Lucinda had yet been.  She viewed the passing show through her glasses, and experienced a pleasant thrill of sophistication.  This, she assured herself, was society; henceforth she was in a position to rail at its follies as one having authority.