When they returned to the city, congratulations, presents and
preparations filled every hour. Kitty's importance gave her back a great
deal of her old dictatorial way. In the matter of toilettes she would
not suffer even Max to interfere. "Results were all men had to do with,"
she said; "everything was inartistic to them but a few yards of linen
and a straight petticoat."

Max sighed over the flounces and flutings and lace and ribbons, and
talked about "unadorned beauty;" and then, when Kitty exhibited results,
went into rhapsodies of wonder and admiration. Kitty was very triumphant
in those days, but a little drop of mortification was in store for her.
She was exhibiting all her pretty things one day to a friend, whose
congratulations found their climax in the following statement:

"Really, Kitty, a most beautiful wardrobe! and such an extraordinary
piece of luck for such a little scatter-brain as you! Why, they do say
that Mr. Raymond's last book is just wonderful."

"_Mr. Raymond's last book_!" And Kitty let the satin-lined morocco case,
with all its ruby treasures, fall from her hand.

"Why, haven't you read it, dear? So clever, and all that, dear."

Kitty had tact enough to turn the conversation; but just as soon as her
visitor had gone, she faced her mother, with blazing eyes and cheeks,
and said, "What is Max's business--a lawyer?"

"Gracious, Kitty! What's the matter? He is a scientist, a professor, and
a great--"