"From mother. I think it is only to say that we shall like very much to come to your evening—and to help as much as we can."
Magda spoke in a rather dejected tone, and sat down with the air of one who was tired of everything. Since the departure of Ned Fairfax a month earlier, in the end of September, no word of him, good or bad or indifferent, had come to hand. She began to feel again as the little Magda of old had felt, when her long letter brought no response. Only she was now debarred from writing, since Ned had not asked it. She wondered much and often that he had not! Here again was shown the altered nature of their relations.
Patricia read the note slowly, then seemed to ponder over it. Magda exerted herself to break the silence.
"We're all looking forward to your evening. But it is such a pity that Rob can't come."
"Rob will come of course—if I ask it."
"I've had a letter from him this morning, and he says it is impossible. He would if he could."
"I'm writing to say that I shall expect him."
Magda wondered at the confident tone. She thought she knew Patricia pretty well by this time—but she also knew that Rob was not in the habit of lightly changing his plans.
"It would be nice if he could," she said, with unwonted caution, aware that Patricia was not in a mood to be contradicted. "And you are going to get up a charade."
Patricia laughed. "I call it a charade!" she said. "My uncle has a mortal horror of theatricals, and wouldn't for any consideration allow them in his house. He doesn't mind a mild little charade—so that's what it is supposed to be. Of course I intend to do things properly. Pen says she can't act—so I want you and Merryl."