And it was a very joyous, happy song she trilled, as she thought of Harold’s compliment, and wished she might wear at commencement the dress of baby-blue which he had admired, for Harold would, of course, be there to see and hear, and as, when he wrote his valedictory two years before there had been in every line a thought of her, so in her essay, which was peculiarly German in its method and handling, thoughts of Harold had been closely interwoven.  She knew she should receive a surfeit of applause—­she always did; but if Harold’s were wanting the whole thing would be a failure.  So she wrote him twice a week, urging him to come, and he always replied that nothing but necessity would keep him from doing so.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE TWO FACES IN THE MIRROR.

Toward the last of May Arthur came to Vassar, bringing with him the graduating dress which he had bought in New York, with Maude as his adviser.  He had Jerrie at the hotel to spend Saturday and Sunday with him, and took her to drive and to shop, and then in the evening asked her to put on her finery, that he might see how it looked.

‘I shall not come to hear you spout out your erudition,’ he said, ’for I detest crowds, with the dreadful smell of the rooms.  I have gotten the park house tolerably free from odors, though the cook’s drain is terrible at times, and I shall have brimstone burned in the cellar once a week.  But what was I saying?  Oh, I know—­I shall not be here at commencement, and I wish to see if my Cherry is likely to look as well as any of them.’

So Jerrie left him alone while she donned the white dress, which fell in soft, fluffy folds around her feet, and fitted her superb figure perfectly.  She knew how well it became her, and sure of Arthur’s approbation, went back to the parlor, where she had left him.  Arthur was standing with his back to the door when she came in, and going up to him, she said: 

‘Here I am in all my gewgaws.  Do you think I shall pass muster?’

She spoke in German, as she always did to him, and when he turned quickly, there was a startled look on his face, as he said: 

’Oh, Cherry, it’s you!  I thought for a moment it was Gretchen speaking to me.  Just so she used to come in with her light footstep and soft voice, so much like yours.  Where is she, Cherry, that she never comes nor writes?  Where is Gretchen now?’

His chin quivered as he talked, and there was a moisture in his eyes, bent so fondly upon the young girl beside him.  He was worn with the fatigue and excitement of his journey and the long drive he had taken, and Jerrie knew that whenever he was tired his mind was weaker and wandered more thin usual.  So she tried to quiet and divert him by calling his attention to her dress, and asking how he liked it.

‘It is lovely,’ he said, examining the lace and the soft flounces.  ’It is the prettiest Maude and I could find.  You know, she was with me, and helped me select it.  Yes, it’s lovely, and so are you, Cherry, with Gretchen’s eyes and hair, and smile, and that one dimple in your cheek.  She used to wear soft, white dresses, and in this you are enough like her to be her daughter.’