Beauty for Ashes (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

      CHAPTER I

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      The Sutherland home sat like some royal palace at the top of a grassy eminence, nestled about by dark pines and hemlocks, its lawn sloping softly down to the highway where tall iron grillwork surrounded the estate and stone pillars made a stately entrance for the driveway. Thick clustering rhododendrons did their best to hide the place from the casual gazer, and glossy laurel branches filled spaces here and there. An avenue of trees gave mystery to the driveway as it disappeared into the thickly shrouded entrance and wound around till it reached the dwelling that stood like a white, gleaming jewel at the top of the rise, not quite hidden from view, tantalizingly beautiful in the morning sun.

      Behind the house were terraces down to a blue-tiled swimming pool, and a smaller pool where lilies floated lazily, and below that a sunken garden. Beyond, a small native woodland with old forest trees carefully tended gave background to the setting.

      Off to the right of the house on another eminence not quite so high, well hidden by trees and shrubbery, and somewhat farther back from the highway, another stone dwelling was fast nearing completion. It was called by the architect and the family "the bungalow," but it might have been but another, somewhat smaller palace, so complete and wide-spreading it was. Gloria Sutherland was to be married next week to Stanwood Asher, and this bungalow, a wedding gift from her father, was to be her new home.

      The Ashers lived on another hilltop across the town of Roselands, in a mansion of fine old Norman architecture, and were the moving spirits in the social life of the place. What the Ashers and Sutherlands did set the pace for the rest of the set, and even the humbler residents of Roselands turned to look when Nancy Asher rode through town on her fine-blooded mare or her brother Stanwood shot by in his fabulous-priced high-powered car, and they stood to admire when either Gloria or Vanna Sutherland were driven by in the handsome Sutherland limousine. Both Gloria and Vanna were worth a second look as well, being the very most charming girls of the younger, smart set of Roselands and wearing clothes straight from the most noted creators of Europe.

      It was a bright, beautiful morning in spring. There were daffodils in golden banks here and there along the borders of the driveway, and the terraces behind the house were a marvelous broidery of color in crocuses, hyacinths, and tulips. Great forsythia bushes shed brightness against the dark pines effectively, like sudden bursts of sunshine, a flame of red tulips picked out a scallop below the white stone wall, and out on the edge of the woods pink and white dogwood had decked themselves in blossoms. It was a morning that went well in one's mind with the thought of weddings; large, priceless weddings where money was lavished without stint.

      Gloria Sutherland had arisen at an hour that she called early. It was 10 o'clock. She had breakfasted, mainly on orange juice and coffee, in her room, and in her yellow velvet robe went straight to the sewing room where the fitter awaited who had come up from one of the city shops to make an alteration in an orchid satin evening frock.

      She looked like a daffodil herself as she entered the sewing room and stood by the open window with the sunlight falling on her mop of yellow curls. The yellow velvet gown coming down softly to the little green satin shoes she was wearing completed the illusion of a yellow flower. She stood and basked in the sunshine, and the sunlight on the velvet cast a golden glow over her piquant face. The seamstress, who was no longer young and never had been beautiful, looked at her with a wistful admiration and sighed enviously to think what a charmed life this beautiful creature led.

      Gloria threw the golden garment aside and allowed herself to be carefully arrayed in the delicate orchid satin. She stood in front of the long pier glass and watched the seamstress as she deftly put in a pin here, smoothed out a pucker there, gave just a little different sweep to the deep flounce that half circled the curiously fashioned skirt, and spread out the line of the long train.

      "It is a lovely dress, isn't it?" said Gloria childishly, joyously. That was one thing about Gloria that made everybody like her–she was so natural and childlike and happy. Her wealth and beauty had not spoiled her or made her snobbish.

      "She

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