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HE moment she entered the dining-room she knew she was incorrectly dressed. But the head waiter had shot ahead of her at her first inquiry for the Bartlett party, and she had reached the table, and was being introduced to the dozen or so men and girls gathered around it, before she had a chance to consider retreat. Except for Fairlee Ormsbee, whom she knew but slightly, the party consisted of strangers to Edna. As she bowed and smiled, and repeated a few of their names before taking the chair waiting for her, she was aware that the women were scrutinizing her from head to toe. The men, too, for that matter.

She saw the big one, in the dark gray flannel shirt, glance down at the rhinestone and onyx buckles on her satin slippers. They were inappropriate, of course. But there had been no one to instruct her. Also, the afternoon gown she had finally decided upon as her safest choice was distinctly out of place. It was simple enough,—long, transparent sleeves, a V-shaped neck,—but 28