Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/55

Rh pretty she thought it was. What a lovely color! Like jonquils one; like violets another; like a meadow spotted with tiny daisies, a certain English print.

It was when she was hanging up the last dress in the closet that she remarked, ever so naturally, "I think your mother has beautiful taste, Laurel."

Laurel looked up quickly. She had replied so far by only necessary yes-thank-yous and no-thank-yous to Mrs. Morrison, and if-you-pleases—that sort of thing, but now she exclaimed, "My mother has the most beautiful taste in the world!"

She didn't know she was going to say just that, nor that her words were going to rush out in such an unfamiliar fashion. She blushed.

But Mrs. Morrison didn't seem to think her reply odd. She didn't even look at her. She said:

"I've always wanted a little girl. It's such fun to dress them. I can see your mother has had great fun getting all your pretty things to match and blend."

Later when Laurel asked her which dress she should put on for dinner, Mrs. Morrison replied, "Why, I don't know, I'm sure. Which dress do you think your mother would have you put on?"

She kept on referring to her mother casually like that right along. "Perhaps," thought Laurel, "she doesn't know there's any reason not to." And yet, being a friend of her father's, how could she help but know that her mother and father didn't live together like other people. Perhaps she didn't know why they didn't live together, just as Laurel herself didn't know why. Whatever the explanation, Mrs.