busy with her mail in the little sitting room. "Something your
father ordered through the club. I'll send that to Mr. Fox. Here's
the bill for your two hats--Miss Nina Carter, by Miss Field."

"What was the blue one?" asked Nina in the doorway, from a cloud
of hair.

"The-blue-one," Harriet said, absently, "was forty-five dollars.
Not bad for a smart little English hat with a little curled cock
feather on it, was it? It's quite the nicest you've ever had, I
think." What now?--What now? hammered her heart.

"Granny paid three times that for that brown hat last winter,"
observed Nina.

"I know she did, and it was absolutely an unsuitable hat, and your
mother wouldn't let you wear it," Harriet said, mildly. "You are a
type, my dear. You must dress for that type."

Nina looked pleased. She was at an age when all girls are vain.
Few people noticed the appearance of the young heiress of Richard
Carter, except perhaps with kindly pity, but it was part of Miss
Field's duty to make the best of it, and Nina was grateful.

"I'll wear it to Francesca's tea!" she said, of the blue hat. The
social bow of a young neighbour, a little older than Nina, was to
be made in a few days' time, at a garden party, and Nina was
absorbed in the exciting prospect of assisting formally.

"No, it's not full dress," Harriet told her. "You'll have to wear