There Lois stood.

Her small worn shoes hesitated on the threshold.
She was gotten up in her poor little best--her dress of cheap brown wool stuff, with its skimpy velvet panel, her hat trimmed with a fold of silk and a little feather.

She had curled her hair over her forehead, and tied on a bit of a lace veil.

Distinct among all this forlorn and innocent furbishing was her face, with its pitiful, youthful prettiness, turning toward her mother and the lawyer with a very clutch of vision.
Mrs.Field got up.

"Oh, it's you, Lois," she said, calmly.