Madame St.
Denis--she's the dressmaker--said I couldn't wear a single thing but jet, and jet makes me look dreadfully brown." Gypsy hung up the dress that was in her hand and walked over to the window.

She felt very much as if somebody had been drawing a file across her front teeth.
She could not have explained what was the matter.

Somehow she seemed to see a quick picture of her own mother dying and dead, and herself in the sad, dark dresses.

And how Joy could speak so--how she _could_! "Oh--only two bureau drawers! Why didn't you give me the two upper ones ?" said Joy, presently, when she was ready to put away her collars and boxes.
"Because my things were in there," said Gypsy.
"But your things were in the lower ones just as much." "I like the upper drawers best," said Gypsy, shortly.
"So do I," retorted Joy.
The hot color rushed over Gypsy's face for the second time, but now it was a somewhat angry color.
"It wasn't very pleasant to have to give up any, and there are all those wardrobe shelves I had to take my things off from too, and I don't think you've any right to make a fuss." "That's polite!" said Joy, with a laugh.

Gypsy knew it wasn't, but for that very reason she wouldn't say so.
One more subject of dispute came up almost before this was forgotten.
When they were all ready to go to bed, Joy wanted the front side.
"But that's where I always sleep," said Gypsy.
"There isn't any air over the back side and I can't breathe," said Joy.
"Neither can I," said Gypsy.
"I never can get to sleep if I don't have the place I'm used to," said Joy.
"You can just as well as I can," said Gypsy.