Elizabeth stood it all until she was pronounced complete.  Then she came and stood in front of the cheap little glass, and surveyed herself.  There were blisters in the glass that twisted her head into a grotesque shape.  The hairpins stuck into her head.  Lizzie had tied a spotted veil tight over her nose and eyes.  The collar of the silk waist was frayed, and cut her neck.  The skirt-band was too tight, and the gloves were torture.  Elizabeth turned slowly, and went down-stairs, past the admiring aunt and grandmother, who exclaimed at the girl’s beauty, now that she was attired to their mind, and encouraged her by saying they were sure her grandmother would want to do something for so pretty a girl.

Lizzie called out to her not to worry, as she flew for her car.  She said she had heard there was a variety show in town where they wanted a girl who could shoot.  If she didn’t succeed with her grandmother, they would try and get her in at the show.  The girls at the store knew a man who had charge of it.  They said he liked pretty girls, and they thought would be glad to get her.  Indeed, Mary James had promised to speak to him last night, and would let her know to-day about it.  It would likely be a job more suited to her cousin’s liking.

Elizabeth shuddered.  Another man!  Would he be like all the rest?—­all the rest save one!

She walked a few steps in the direction she had been told to go, and then turned resolutely around, and came back.  The watching grandmother felt her heart sink.  What was this headstrong girl going to do next?  Rebel again?

“What’s the matter, Bessie?” she asked, meeting her anxiously at the door.  “It’s bad luck to turn back when you’ve started.”

“I can’t go this way,” said the girl excitedly.  “It’s all a cheat.  I’m not like this.  It isn’t mine, and I’m not going in it.  I must have my own clothes and be myself when I go to see her.  If she doesn’t like me and want me, then I can take Robin and go back.”  And like another David burdened with Saul’s armor she came back to get her little sling and stones.

She tore off the veil, and the sticky gloves from her cold hands, and all the finery of silk waist and belt, and donned her old plain blue coat and skirt in which she had arrived in Philadelphia.  They had been frugally brushed and sponged, and made neat for a working dress.  Elizabeth felt that they belonged to her.  Under the jacket, which fortunately was long enough to hide her waist, she buckled her belt with the two pistols.  Then she took the battered old felt hat from the closet, and tried to fasten it on; but the pompadour interfered.  Relentlessly she pulled down the work of art that Lizzie had created, and brushed and combed her long, thick hair into subjection again, and put it in its long braid down her back.  Her grandmother should see her just as she was.  She should know what kind of a girl belonged to her.  Then, if she chose to be a real grandmother, well and good.