purchase meant, a change of existence as complete as that between the moth and the butterfly; and the realization of this fact, of the audacity she was resolved to commit made her hot as she gazed at the suit.  It was modest enough, yet it had a certain distinction of cut, it looked expensive:  twenty dollars was not cheap, to be sure, but as the placard announced, it had the air of being much more costly—­even more costly than thirty dollars, which seemed fabulous.  Though she strove to remain outwardly calm, her heart beat rapidly as she entered the store and asked for the costume, and was somewhat reassured by the comportment of the saleswoman, who did not appear to think the request preposterous, to regard her as a spendthrift and a profligate.  She took down the suit from the form and led Janet to a cabinet in the back of the shop, where it was tried on.

“It’s worth every bit of thirty dollars,” she heard the woman say, “but we’ve had it here for some time, and it’s no use for our trade.  You can’t sell anything like that in Hampton, there’s no taste here, it’s too good, it ain’t showy enough.  My, it fits you like it was made for you, and it’s just your style—­and you can see it wants a lady to wear it.  Your old suit is too tight—­I guess you’ve filled out some since you bought it.”

She turned Janet around and around, patting the skirt here and there, and then stood off a little way, with clasped hands, her expression almost rapturous.  Janet’s breath came fast as she gazed into the mirror and buttoned up the coat.  Was the woman’s admiration cleverly feigned? this image she beheld an illusion? or did she really look different, distinguished? and if not beautiful—­alluring?  She had had a momentary apprehension, almost sickening, that she would be too conspicuous, but the saleswoman had anticipated that objection with the magical word “lady.”

“I’ll take it,” she announced.

“Well, you couldn’t have done better if you’d gone to Boston,” declared the woman.  “It’s one chance in a thousand.  Will you wear it?”

“Yes,” said Janet faintly....  “Just put my old suit in a box, and I’ll call for it in an hour.”

The woman’s sympathetic smile followed her as she left the shop.  She had an instant of hesitation, of an almost panicky desire to go back and repair her folly, ere it was too late.  Why had she taken her money with her that evening, if not with some deliberate though undefined purpose?  But she was ashamed to face the saleswoman again, and her elation was not to be repressed—­an elation optically presented by a huge electric sign on the farther side of the street that flashed through all the colours of the spectrum, surrounded by running fire like the running fire in her soul.  Deliciously self-conscious, her gaze fixed ahead, she pressed through the Wednesday night crowds, young mill men and women in their best clothes, housewives and fathers of families with children and bundles.  In front of the Banner office a