"Come on, Gracie," called Mollie, as barely five minutes later three
figures sat propped up in the bed, waiting impatiently for the fourth.
"What's the use of primping to-night? Nobody's going to see you."
"You flatter yourself," drawled Grace, as she turned away from the mirror.
"Anyway, I once read that a girl should never allow herself to look
homely, even when she's alone."
"Goodness, if I have to work so hard to be beautiful," retorted Mollie,
holding her letter up to the light in a vain attempt to read its contents
through the envelope, "I'd rather be good and homely and comfortable."
"If all wishes were so easily granted," Grace began, but at the look in
Mollie's eyes thought better of it. "I meant," she corrected herself
blandly, "that, of course, you can never be anything but beautiful,
Mollie."
"Well, I don't know, of course," said Mollie, with the same vengeful light
in her eyes, "but I'm always suspicious of any one who goes to extremes."
"Never mind your suspicions, Mollie," cried Betty, with a happy ring in
her voice, as the last of the quartette climbed in under the covers. "All
that really interests me now is the fact that I have a couple of letters
that are just begging to be read."
"Yes, and I'd like to know if that's fair," said Grace, looking injured.
"We only got one apiece, while here you are rolling in luxury--"
"And they're both in the same handwriting--Allen's of course," added Amy,
peeping over Betty's shoulder.
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