Have you everything you need, ready to your hand? Is all your little
laces an' frills done up fresh an' tidy, so's you can choose the
becomingest? Where's that lace butterfly for your neck, I like so much?
I washed it as careful as could be, a couple o' weeks ago, but have you
wore it since?"

Claire hesitated. "I think I'll put on the simplest things I've got,
Martha," she replied evasively. "Just one of my linen shirtwaists, with
the stiff collar and cuffs. No fluffy ruffles at all."

"But that scrap o' lace at your throat, ain't fluffy ruffles. An' stiff,
starched things don't kinder become you, Miss Claire. They ain't your
style. You don't wanter look like you been dressed by your worst enemy,
do you? You're so little an' dainty, you got to have delicate things to
go _with_ you. Say, just try that butterfly on you now. I want to see if
it'll do, all right."

By this time Claire knew Martha well enough to realize it was useless to
attempt to temporize or evade.

"I can't wear the butterfly, Martha dear," she said.

"Why can't you?"

"Well, now please, _please_ don't worry, but I can't wear it, because I
can't find it. I dare say it'll turn up some day when I least expect,
but just now, it seems to be lost."

Martha looked grave. "It come out o' the wash all right, didn't it?" she
inquired anxiously. "I remember distinkly leavin' it soak in the suds,