From husbands in general, and from oogly German husbands in particular may Hymen defend me! Never again will I attempt to select “echt Amerikanische” clothes for a woman who must not weary her young husband. But how was I to know that the harmless little shopping expedition would resolve itself into a domestic tragedy, with Herr Nirlanger as the villain, Frau Nirlanger as the persecuted heroine, and I as—what is it in tragedy that corresponds to the innocent bystander in real life? That would be my role.

The purchasing of the clothes was a real joy. Next to buying pretty things for myself there is nothing I like better than choosing them for some one else. And when that some one else happens to be a fascinating little foreigner who coos over the silken stuffs in a delightful mixture of German and English; and especially when that some one else must be made to look so charming that she will astonish her oogly husband, then does the selecting of those pretty things cease to be a task, and become an art.

It was to be a complete surprise to Herr Nirlanger. He was to know nothing of it until everything was finished and Frau Nirlanger, dressed in the prettiest of the pretty Amerikanisch gowns, was ready to astound him when he should come home from the office of the vast plant where he solved engineering problems.

“From my own money I buy all this,” Frau Nirlanger confided to me, with a gay little laugh of excitement, as we started out. “From Vienna it comes. Always I have given it at once to my husband, as a wife should. Yesterday it came, but I said nothing, and when my husband said to me, \'Anna, did not the money come as usual to-day? It is time,\' I told a little lie—but a little one, is it not? Very amusing it was. Almost I did laugh. Na, he will not be cross when he see how his wife like the Amerikanische ladies will look. He admires very much the ladies of Amerika. Many times he has said so.”

(“I\'ll wager he has—the great, ugly boor!” I thought, in parenthesis.) “We\'ll show him!” I said, aloud. “He won\'t know you. Such a lot of beautiful clothes as we can buy with all this money. Oh, dear Frau Nirlanger, it\'s going to be slathers of fun! I feel as excited about it as though it were a trousseau we were buying.”

“So it is,” she replied, a little shadow of sadness falling across the brightness of her face. “I had no proper clothes when we were married—but nothing! You know perhaps my story. In America, everyone knows everything. It is wonderful. When I ran away to marry Konrad Nirlanger I had only the dress which I wore; even that I borrowed from one of the upper servants, on a pretext, so that no one should recognize me. Ach Gott! I need not have worried. So! You see, it will be after all a trousseau.”

Why, oh, why should a woman with her graceful carriage and pretty vivacity have been cursed with such an ill-assorted lot of features! Especially when certain boorish young husbands have expressed an admiration for pink-and-white effects in femininity.

“Never mind, Mr. Husband, I\'ll show yez!” I resolved as the elevator left us at the floor where waxen ladies in shining glass cases smiled amiably all the day.

There must be no violent pinks or blues. Brown was too old. She was not young enough for black. Violet was too trying. And so the gowns began to strew tables and chairs and racks, and still I shook my head, and Frau Nirlanger looked despairing, and the be-puffed and real Irish-crocheted saleswoman began to develop a baleful gleam about the eyes.

And then we found it! It was a case of love at first sight. The unimaginative would have called it gray. The thoughtless would have pronounced it pink. It was neither, and both; a soft, rosily-gray mixture of the two, like the sky that one sometimes sees at winter twilight, the pink of the sunset veiled by the gray of the snow clouds. It was of a supple, shining cloth, simple in cut, graceful in lines.

“There! We\'ve found it. Let\'s pray that it will not require too much altering.”

But when it had been slipped over her head we groaned at the inadequacy of her old-fashioned stays. There followed a flying visit to the department where hips were whisked out of sight in a jiffy, and where lines miraculously took the place of curves. Then came the gown once more, over the new stays this time. The effect was magical. The Irish-crocheted saleswoman and I clasped hands and fell back in attitudes of admiration. Frau Nirlanger turned this way and that before the long mirror and chattered like a pleased child. Her adjectives grew into words of six syllables. She cooed over the soft-shining stuff in little broken exclamations in French and German.

Then came a straight and simple street suit of blue cloth, a lingerie gown of white, hats, shoes and even a couple of limp satin petticoats. The day was gone before we could finish.

I bullied them into promising the pinky-gray gown for the next afternoon.

“Sooch funs!” giggled Frau Nirlanger, “and how it makes one tired. So kind you were, to take this trouble for me. Me, I could never have warred with that Fraulein who served us—so haughty she was, nicht? But it is good again pretty clothes to have. Pretty gowns I lofe—you also, not?”

“Indeed I do lofe \'em. But my money comes to me in a yellow pay envelope, and it is spent before it reaches me, as a rule. It doesn\'t leave much of a margin for general recklessness.”

A tiny sigh came from Frau Nirlanger. “There will be little to give to Konrad this time. So much money they cost, those clothes! But Konrad, he will not care when he sees the so beautiful dresses, is it not so?”

“Care!” I cried with a great deal of bravado, although a tiny inner voice spake in doubt. “Certainly not. How could he?”

Next day the boxes came, and we smuggled them into my room. The unwrapping of the tissue paper folds was a ceremony. We reveled in the very crackle of it. I had scuttled home from the office as early as decency would permit, in order to have plenty of time for the dressing. It must be quite finished before Herr Nirlanger should arrive. Frau Nirlanger had purchased three tickets for the German theater, also as a surprise, and I was to accompany the happily surprised husband and the proud little wife of the new Amerikanische clothes.

I coaxed her to let me do things to her hair. Usually she wore a stiff and ugly coiffure that could only be described as a chignon. I do not recollect ever having seen a chignon, but I know that it must look like that. I was thankful for my Irish deftness of fingers as I stepped back to view the result of my labors. The new arrangement of the hair gave her features a new softness and dignity.

We came to the lacing of the stays, with their exaggerated length. “Aber!” exclaimed Frau Nirlanger, not daring to laugh because of the strange snugness. “Ach!” and again, “Aber to laugh it is!”

We had decided the prettiest of the new gowns must do honor to the occasion. “This shade is called ashes of roses,” I explained, as I slipped it over her head.

“Ashes of roses!” she echoed. “How pretty, yes? But a little sad too, is it not so? Like rosy hopes that have been withered. Ach, what a foolish talk! So, now you will fasten it please. A real trick it is to button such a dress—so sly they are, those fastenings.”

When all the sly fastenings were secure I stood at gaze.

“Nose is shiny,” I announced, searching in a drawer for chamois and powder.

Frau Nirlanger raised an objecting hand. “But Konrad does not approve of such things. He has said so. He has—”

“You tell your Konrad that a chamois skin isn\'t half as objectionable as a shiny one. Come here and let me dust this over your nose and chin, while I breathe a prayer of thanks that I have no overzealous husband near to forbid me the use of a bit of powder. There! If I sez it mesilf as shouldn\'t, yez ar-r-re a credit t\' me, me darlint.”

“You are satisfied. There is not one small thing awry? Ach, how we shall laugh at Konrad\'s face.”

“Satisfied! I\'d kiss you if I weren\'t afraid that I should muss you up. You\'re not the same woman. You look like a girl! And so p............