When Mrs. Trapes was gone, Hermione stood a long time to look at herself
in her little mirror, viewing and examining each feature of her lovely,
intent face more earnestly than she had ever done before; and sometimes
she smiled, and sometimes she frowned, and all her thought was:

"Shall I make him happy, I wonder? Can I be all he wants--all he thinks
I am?"

So, after some while, she combed and brushed out her glorious hair,
shyly glad because of its length and splendour; and, having crowned her
shapely head with it, viewed the effect with cold, hypercritical eyes.

"Can I, oh, can I ever be all he wants--all he thinks I am?"

And then she proceeded to dress; the holey stockings were replaced by
others that had seen less service; the worn frills and laces were
changed for others less threadbare. This done, Hermione, with many
supple twists, wriggled dexterously into her best dress, pausing now and
then to sigh mournfully and grieve over its many deficiencies and
shortcomings, defects which only feminine eyes, so coldly critical,
might hope to behold.

Scarcely was all this accomplished when she heard a soft knock at the
outer door, and at the sound her heart leapt; she flushed and paled and
stood a moment striving to stay the quick, heavy throbbing within her
bosom; then breathlessly she hastened along the passage and, opening the
door with trembling hands, beheld Bud M'Ginnis. While she stared, dumb
and amazed, he entered and, closing the door, leaned his broad back
against it.