"It is a flimsy thing," he heard her say, as if in self-argument. "It
wouldn't stand many wearings before it would look a sight. It wouldn't
wash--man as you are, Mr. Mostyn, you know it wouldn't wash. I'm going
to take it off and try to have some sense. I'm in no position to try
to make a show. School-teachers here in the backwoods have no right to
excite comment by the gaudy finery they wear. I'm paid by people's
taxes. Did you know that? I might find myself out of a job--out of
employment, I mean. Some of these crusty old fellows that believe it
is wrong to have an organ in church had just as soon as not enter a
complaint against me as being too frivolous to hold a position of
trust like mine."

"Oh, I think you are very wrong to allow such an idea as that to
influence you," Mostyn argued, warmly. He was about to add more, but
Tom Drake sauntered round the corner, chewing tobacco and smiling
broadly. He scarcely deigned to notice Dolly's altered appearance.

"John says you didn't git a nibble," he laughed. "I hardly 'lowed you
would. The water is too low and clear. I've ketched 'em with my hand
under the rocks in such weather as this."

Leaving them together, Dolly went into the house, where she was met by
the two eager women.

"I'll bet Mr. Mostyn thought it was nice," Mrs. Drake was saying.

"Well, I certainly hope so," Miss Munson answered. "They say Atlanta
men in his set are powerful good judges of women's wear."