Fanny was pulling out the fluffy masses of curling brown hair about
her forehead.

"Your hair looks all right, Ellen," she said absent-mindedly.

She was wondering if Wesley Elliot would speak to her.

"I saw that Orr girl," whispered Ellen; "she's got on a white dress,
all lace, and a black sash. She does look pretty, Fanny; we'll have
to acknowledge it."

"Ye-es," murmured Fanny who was drawing on a pair of fresh white
gloves.

"You aren't going to wear those gloves down stairs, are you, Fan? I
haven't got any."

"My hands are all stained up with currant jelly," explained Fanny
hurriedly. "Your hands are real pretty, Ellen."

Ellen glanced down at her capable, brown hands, with their blunt
finger-tips.

"Did you ever notice _her_ hands, Fanny?"

Fanny shook her head.

"Her nails are cut kind of pointed, and all shined up. And her hands
are so little and soft and white. I suppose a man--do you think Jim