I
could wear my own school plaid when the weather grew cooler;
and one or two others of my wardrobe were all I need show.
"Style is more than a face." No doubt. What _then?_ Did I want
style and a face too? Was I wishing to confound St. Clair? Was
I escaping already from that bond and mark of a Christian, —
"The world knoweth us not"? I was startled and afraid. I fell
down on my knees by the side of my bed, and tried to look at
the matter as God looked at it. And the Daisy I thought He
would be pleased with, was one who ran no race for worldly
supremacy. I resolved she should not. The praise of God, I
thought, was far better than the praise of men.
My mind was quite made up when I rose from my knees; but I
looked forward to a less quiet school term than the last had
been. Something told me that the rest of the girls would take
me up now, for good and for evil. My Paris dress set me in a
new position, no longer beneath their notice. I was an object
of attention. Even that first evening I felt the difference.
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