“The what?” asked Arabella.
Patricia was sure that she had made a mistake.
“The room where the flowers are?” she said.
“Oh, the conservatory, you mean,” Arabella said, grandly. “No, I haven't been in there, but I've seen the flowers from the doorway, and they're lovely.”
“Well, they're twice as lovely when you're right in the room with them. I know, because I've been in there!” said Patricia.
“When?” queried Arabella.
“The last time I was there,” Patricia replied, “and now I'll tell you something; there's something in that room that I know about, and not another girl knows it but me. I won't tell you what it is now, but at the party I'll do better than tell you; I'll show you. We'll go out into the hall when nobody is looking at us, and we'll go into the what-you-call-it,—”
“The conservatory,” prompted Arabella.
“The conservatory,” repeated Patricia, “and then you'll see what you'll see! I promise to surprise you.”
“Don't you tell if I tell you,” said Arabella.