"What do you care what they wear. You don't want to be like them, do
you?"

"I may not care to be like them, but I want to look like them. I got the
pattern of this sweater I am knitting from one of my boarders. Do you
want it, Claudia?"

Mrs. Beaufort winced at the word "boarders." She hated to think that
Caroline must---- "I never wear sweaters, Caroline. They are not my
style. But I am knitting one for Becky."

"Is it blue?" Randy asked. "Becky ought always to wear blue, except when
she wears pale yellow. That was a heavenly thing you had on at dinner
the night we arrived, wasn't it, Major?"

"Everything was heavenly. I felt like one who expecting a barren plain
sees--Paradise."

It was not flattery and they knew it. They were hospitable souls, and in
a week he had become, as it were, one of them.

Randy, returning to the subject in hand, asked, "Will you wear the blue
if I come up to-night, Becky?"

"I will not." Becky was making herself a chaplet of yellow leaves, and
her bronze hair caught the light. "I will not. I shall probably put on
my old white if I dress for dinner."

"Of course you'll dress," said Mrs. Beaufort; "there are certain things