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Etta quietly took the blue silk kimono that Cathalina had slipped off and brought in exchange a dainty morning dress of fine, sheer lawn.

Cathalina’s bedroom was a beautiful setting for the fair little maid of fourteen years. When the new home was being finished a year before, Cathalina herself, with some direction from her mother, had chosen the blue, white and silver decorations and selected the furnishings. What pride she had taken at first in the delicate effects, the simple, though expensive, fittings. But she was tired of it all now.

As Etta fastened the dress, Cathalina said, with the shy little smile that she always had when she spoke intimately, “I was so cross, Etta, this morning when you brought up my breakfast,—please forgive me!”

“O, Miss Cathie,—if you call that cross! What would you think if you heard what I’ve had to put up with?”

“Better not tell me, Etta,” replied Cathalina, who had been taught not to encourage tales of former service. “I might get hints on how to manage you,” she added, with a laugh. “How loose this dress is getting! Just pin over the girdle a little—or get me that other sash that matches, please.” Then both girls turned to listen to sounds of commotion down stairs.