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 you till the last day I live, if you'll only—oh," she broke off to add, "you can't, you simply cannot imagine what it's like to come to a place like this and be a—a laughing-stock! Oh, I am—I know it—I can see! Do you think it's any fun not to ever be cut in on except by one man, out of sympathy—and then to have to pretend to go to the dressing room finally so's to give that man a chance to get away from you"

"Oh, was that it?"

"Yes, that was it."

"And you ran back here to the house by yourself as soon as I left you?"

"Um-hum." Cecily's chin quivered threateningly, and she controlled it with an effort. "Go on," she urged. "Go on. Tell me everything that's wrong with me and just what I can do to change it"

Jock pulled a chair up to face hers and seated himself so close that their knees touched. He cleared his throat in a business-like manner. "Well, to begin with," he said, "there're your clothes, Cecily. A woman could tell you just what's wrong with them, but I can't—I only know something is. You'll have to find out for yourself just what. They're not like the other girls' clothes—you can see that, can't you?"

"Yes, of course I can."

"They're—well, babyish. Little puffy sleeves, and high necks. I suppose your mother picks them out. Look here, Cecily, first of all you'll have to get your mother in hand, if she's the way you say she is. You'll have to show some spunk, and be independent—tell her you're going to buy your own clothes from now on. Think you can get away with that?"

"I'll try," said Cecily. "I guess maybe."

"Don't buy any more pinks and blues. They're such—such harmless-looking colors. Wishy-washy. Get