“I hurled myself into the depths of self-abasement.  I spared no harsh details.  I told of the shampoo, and the candy on the window-ledge, the magazine under the bed.  Religiously I itemized every article on my person, giving every one her proper due.  Then I excused myself and went up-stairs.  I sneaked into my own room, removed the dream of Nile green and lace and jumped up and down on it a few times, in stocking feet, so the girls would not hear,—­and relieved my feelings somewhat.  I think I had to resort to gold dust to resurrect my own complexion,—­not the best in the world perhaps, but mine, and I am for it.  I combed my hair.  I donned my simple blue dress,—­cost four-fifty and Aunt Grace made it.’  I wore my white kid slippers and stockings.  My re-debut—­ever hear the word?—­was worth the exertion.  Andy’s face shone as he came to meet me.  His mother did not know me.

“‘I am Miss Starr,’ I said.  ‘The one and only.’

“‘Why, you sweet little thing,’ she said, smiling, without the cloud.

“We went for a long drive, and had supper down-town at eleven o’clock, and she kept me with her at the hotel all night.  It was Saturday.  I slept with her and used all of her night things and toilet articles.  I told her about the magnificent stories I am going to write sometime, and she told me what a darling Andy was when he was a baby, and between you and me, I doubt if they have a million dollars to their name.  Honestly, Carol, they are just as nice as we are.

“They stayed in Chicago three days, and she admitted she came on purpose to get acquainted with me.  She made me promise to spend a week with them in Cleveland when I can get away, and she gave me the dearest little pearl ring to remember her by.  But I wonder—­I wonder—­ Anyhow I can’t tell him until he asks me, can I?  And he has never said a word.  You know yourself, Carol, you can’t blurt things out at a man until he gives you a chance.  So my conscience is quite free.  And she certainly is adorable.  Think of a mother-in-law like that, pink and gray, with dimples.  Yes, she is my ideal of a mother-in-law.  I haven’t met ‘father’ yet, but he doesn’t need to be very nice.  A man can hide a hundred faults in one fold of a pocketbook the size of his.

“Lots of love to you both,—­and you write to Larkie oftener than you do to me, which isn’t fair, for she has a husband and a baby and is within reaching distance of father, and I am an orphan, and a widow, and a stranger in a strange land.

“But I love you anyhow.

“Connie.”

CHAPTER XV

THE SECOND STEP