Hanny drew a long breath. Twice of late her mother had found excuses when she had asked to go down to Beach Street. She, too, had a vague feeling there was something in the air; but her simple nature was not suspicious. And it wasn't like going to the Whitney's. She couldn't do such a thing without asking permission.
Delia finished her call, kissed the babies and Hanny, and said they would all be up at eight, sharp.
"I'll have Hanny in apple-pie order," answered Dolly, with her bright smile.
Stephen was delightful in his family; and he had the same odd little look in his eye as her father, suggestive of fun. He was teaching her to play checkers; and, although Dolly helped sometimes, she found it hard work to beat him. Dolly sat by embroidering.
The next morning they drove down-town and did some shopping, and called on Annette, who made them stay to luncheon. Mrs. Beekman was quite poorly now, and had grown very, very stout. She said, "she had lost all her ambition. It was a great thing to be young, and have all your life before you."
It was so delightful; and Dolly was sure they wouldn't have many more such Indian summery days, so they went over to Washington Parade-ground, where the style promenaded on Saturday afternoon. Hanny wore her best dress and a pretty cloth cape trimmed with a little edge of fur. They took Stevie, who was delighted of course, and who ran about, very proud of his new jacket and trousers.
Many of the promenaders nodded to young Mrs. Stephen Underhill. Belles and beaux went by; prettily dressed children; stylish little boys, who carried canes, and had long tassels drooping over one side of their caps. Hanny enjoyed it all very much.
Then after supper, Dolly put a fine lace tucker over the edging at the neck of her frock, and found a blue sash, and curled her hair so as to make it all wavy at the edge of her forehead; and there was a very sweet, attractive girl, if she wasn't a beauty.
Mr. Theodore Whitney seemed very much amused and pleased, and politely inquired if he might be Miss Underhill's escort. Delia looked unusually nice in her new brown silk and some beautiful old lace Aunt Clem had given her.
People did not wait until ten o'clock for "functions" to begin; neither did they give them that uneuphonious name. Hanny had read and heard a good deal since her first visit to genius in the plain, poor, little cottage; and this certainly had more of the true aspect one connects with poesy. The two rooms were daintily furnished; pictures everywhere. Mr. Osgood was a painter, and his portraits were quite celebrated. The curtains fell with a graceful sweep. The light brocade of the chairs threw out glisteny shades; the little tables set about held books and engravings, and great portfolios leaned against the wall. There was a case of choicely-bound books, and an open piano. Flowers were in vases on brackets, and low, quaint china bowls. It was like a lovely picture to the little girl; but she felt afraid of the people talking so earnestly, and wondered if they were all poets and authors.