She heard them laughing as she ran upstairs to change to a more
conventional dress.

"Etta," said she, consigning the Indian costume to her maid, "I'm
too happy to live!"

Etta, one of those homely, conscientious women who extract in some
mysterious way an actual pride and pleasure from the beauty of the
women whom they serve, smiled faintly and dully.

"The weather's getting real nice now," she submitted, as one who
will not discourage a worthy emotion.

Rachael laughed out joyously. The next instant she had flung up a
window and leaned out in the spring darkness. Trees on the drive
were rustling over pools of light, a lighted steamboat went slowly
up the river, the brilliant eyes of motor cars curved swiftly
through the blackness. A hurdy-gurdy, guarded by two shadowy
forms, was pouring out a wild jangle of sound from the curb. When
the window was shut, a moment later, the old Italian man and woman
who owned the musical instrument decided that they must mark this
apartment house for many a future visit, and, chattering
hopefully, went upon their way. The belladonna in the spangled
gown, who had looked down upon them for a brief interval,
meanwhile ran down to her guests.

She was in wild spirits, inspired with her most enchanting mood;
for an hour or two there was no resisting her. Mrs. Whittaker and
Mrs. Bowditch fell as certainly under her spell as did the three
men. "She really HAS changed since she married Greg," said Louise