One saw it easily, almost suddenly, in Alwyn's Sunday suit,
vivid neckties, and awkward fads.
Slower, subtler, but more striking was the change in Zora, as she began
to earn bits of pin money in the office and to learn to sew. Dresses
hung straighter; belts served a better purpose; stockings were smoother;
underwear was daintier. Then her hair--that great dark mass of immovable
infinitely curled hair--began to be subdued and twisted and combed
until, with steady pains and study, it lay in thick twisted braids about
her velvet forehead, like some shadowed halo. All this came much more
slowly and spasmodically than one tells it. Few noticed the change much;
none noticed all; and yet there came a night--a student's social--when
with a certain suddenness the whole school, teachers and pupils,
realized the newness of the girl, and even Bles was startled.
He had bought her in town, at Christmas time, a pair of white satin
slippers, partly to test the smallness of her feet on which in younger
days he had rallied her, and partly because she had mentioned a possible
white dress. They were a cheap, plain pair but dainty, and they fitted
well.
When the evening came and the students were marching and the teachers,
save Miss Smith, were sitting rather primly apart and commenting, she
entered the room. She was a little late, and a hush greeted her.
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