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Updated: June 10, 2025
She gave it a glance of disfavor now, and refrained from pursuing her idea. When the muslin dress was donned, and a pink satin hair-bow replaced the black one that bobbed on Gwendolyn's head when she rode, she returned to the window and sat down. The seat was deep, and her shiny patent-leather slippers stuck straight out in front of her. In one hand she held a fresh handkerchief.
The next morning was fair and sunny, and before breakfast Bobby had it planned that they should spend the day at Mount Vernon. Of course Betty and Libbie were very anxious to see the famous place, and the three sisters were glad to have the opportunity to take them for the first time. "It's never the same again," explained Louise, obligingly tying Esther's hair-bow for her.
Mr. Seeders walked back to where they stood. Tildy looked up and saw him, gasped, and pressed the mustard spoon against her heart. A red hair-bow was in her hair; she wore Venus's Eighth Avenue badge, the blue bead necklace with the swinging silver symbolic heart. Mr. Seeders was flushed and embarrassed. He plunged one hand into his hip pocket and the other into a fresh pumpkin pie.
Seeders backed away, and departed, feeling that reparation had been made. But behind the convenient screen Tildy had thrown herself flat upon a table among the butter chips and the coffee cups, and was sobbing her heart out out and back again to the grey plain wherein travel they with blunt noses and hay-coloured hair. From her knot she had torn the red hair-bow and cast it upon the floor.
And later on, I suppose, Greek and Latin?" "I've thought of Spanish and Italian." "Eventually," informed Miss Royle, with a conscious, sinuous shift from foot to foot, "Gwendolyn will have seven tongues at her command." "How chic!" Once more the gloved hand was extended to pat the pink-satin hair-bow. Gwendolyn accepted the pat stolidly. Her eyes were fixed on her mother's face.
Then, still fearful that there was some mistake about it all, she put a hand to her head; and found her hair-bow gone! In its place, making a small floppy double knot, was a length of black shoe-string! "Oh, goody!" she cried. "Um!" grunted the little old gentleman. "And you can play in the water if you'd like to." That needed no urging! She was face about on the instant.
But the black satin hair-bow also is femininity's demure, impersonal, common ornament, and tells no tales.
One by one the maids went. Then Gwendolyn suddenly recalled why she was waiting alone while Miss Royle and Jane made themselves extra neat in their respective rooms; why she herself was dressed with such unusual care in a pink muslin, white silk stockings, and black patent-leather pumps, the whole crowned by a pink-satin hair-bow.
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