Arabella stared at her through her glasses, but she said nothing.
“You're sort of old-fashioned,” Patricia continued, “but I guess we can play together nicely, and you needn't be provoked at what I said, for we're going to have a secret the very first thing, and I'll tell it to you when we're having our ice cream.”
They entered a tiny store which the sign stated was an “Ice Cream Parlor.” There was room for but three little tables, but Arabella thought it quite grand, for the wall-paper was covered with gaudy flowers, and the ice cream was very pink.
They took tiny sips that the treat might last longer, and Arabella watched Patricia, and waited to hear what she had to tell.
At last Patricia lost patience.
“Why don't you ask what the secret is?” she asked.
“Why don't you tell it if it's worth telling?” Arabella asked, coolly.
“I guess it's worth telling,” said Patricia. “Say, you'll be at Dorothy Dainty's party, won't you?”
“Of course I'll be there; my costume is 'most done.”
“What's it going to be?”