Both gown and hat were of her own creation, and the whole outfit had cost less than ten dollars—but not the greatest man-milliner in Paris ever turned out anything more becoming to Annette's simple and natural beauty than she herself had evolved from the "Emporium" at Circleville. The daintiness and freshness of it was charming; and when, in moving, she accidentally displayed a snowy, lace-edged petticoat, this daintiness and freshness was emphasised.
Never in her life had Annette looked forward to a visit with the same dislike as this one. Crane had at last spoken of Constance Maitland, saying he meant to ask her to call. He was very guarded in all he said, but Annette, as would any intelligent wife, saw that he was on his guard, and that, in itself, told much. She said nothing; she was far above the spites of petty jealousy. She no longer depreciated herself in general, but she had been a little frightened by Thorndyke's praises of Constance Maitland's intelligence and charm. And Annette had, by clairvoyance, come very near to Crane's real feeling for Constance. It was not love—she had begun miserably to doubt whether he were really capa-
