Jean laughed.  “You take Dad too seriously.  He really believes Mr. Orcutt has it in for him, and he sees an ulterior motive in everything he does in a business way.  But, really, the Orcutts are all right.  There was some business deal, years and years ago, in which Dad fancied Mr. Orcutt tried to get the best of him, and he has never forgotten it.  You see, Dad is the dearest thing that ever lived, but he is sort of crusty, and it isn’t everybody that knows how to take him.  Why, Mr. and Mrs. Orcutt are going to be at dinner this evening, and are going to the theatre, too.  They know it is my birthday party, so that doesn’t look as though they were such fierce enemies of the McNabbs, does it?

“Let’s get back to the subject of coats.  This squirrel is beautiful, but I believe I like the dark fur the better.  I think I’ll try that marten again.”

Hedin was thinking rapidly.  He had known from the first that the darker fur was the fur for her, yet he had refrained from making any direct suggestion.

“Just a moment, please,” he said.  “Won’t you button that coat once more, I want to get an artificial light effect.”  As he spoke, he moved toward the windows and drew the shades.  Returning in the gloom, he reached swiftly into the fur safe and withdrew the Russian sable coat which he deftly deposited on top of the marten coat that lay with several others upon a nearby table.  As the girl turned from the glass, he switched on the light.

“All right,” he said, a moment later.  “If you care to try on the marten again, we’ll see how that shows up under the artificial.”  Deftly he lifted the squirrel from her shoulders, and, picking up the Russian sable, held it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves.  As she buttoned it, he stepped back, and viewed the result through critically puckered eyes.  With an effort he refrained from voicing his enchantment with the living picture before him.  Old John was right—­it was a coat fit for a queen!

“I like this one best.  I’ll take it.”

Hedin agreed.  “I think you have chosen wisely,” he answered, adding, as she started to loosen the garment at the throat, “Just a minute—­the set of the collar in the back——­” He stepped behind her, raised the collar a trifle with his fingers, smoothed it into place, and stepped aside to note the effect.  “Just a trifle low,” he said, “but it’s too late to have it altered to-day.”

“Oh, bother!  I think the set is all right.  Who would ever notice it?  Let it go.”

Hedin smiled.  “You can wear it to-night, all right, but you must promise me to send it down the first thing Monday morning for the alteration.

“I will bring it to the house this afternoon.”

A sudden caprice seized her.  “Why, I think I’ll wear it!” she answered.  “Just help me on with it, Oskar.  And thank you so much for helping me select it.  Here comes Mr. Wentworth, now.  I wonder whether he will like it.  I’m crazy about it.  What kind of a marten did you say it is?  Everybody will be asking me, and I want to be able to tell them what my own coat is.”