the season was the ball to be given for Miss Dallas in early January. So the papers said; so the various society columns repeated and repeated again. "Miss Dallas is one of the most popular débutantes of the season, etc., etc." ("oh, she'll like that," thought Helen to herself), "whose picture is printed below" ("she'll cut that out," she smiled).
Helen avoided newspaper notoriety usually. Stephen wondered at her willingness to allow Laurel's name to appear frequently in print, and in conspicuous print.
He wondered at another sudden oddity of Helen's. The servants wondered at it, too. In fact it was one of the servants who brought it to his attention. Twice, lately, upon arriving home in the late afternoon, he had noticed that the shades in the house were not all drawn. He had been able to look into Helen's room on the second floor, and see Laurel seated under the light, at the piano, playing. He spoke to the parlor-maid.
"I know, sir. It hardly seems safe, sir. But it's Mrs. Dallas's orders, sir."
Later to Stephen Helen explained, "But it looks so pretty from the street. Why shut in all our loveliness? I'll run the risk of burglars."
Even on the afternoon of Laurel's tea, Helen ordered the shades raised. She went even further. With her own hands she pulled back the lace curtains in the bay-window where she and Laurel were going to stand to receive their guests.
"It looks out only on the alley," she shrugged.
