“Oh, I suppose so,” returned Betsy carelessly. “I reckon she will enjoy it more than anyone else. If you wear white, Elizabeth, I will wear it, too, so we can keep each other company. We will not be the only ones, either, for I don’t suppose half the girls will have really truly party dresses.”
“Have you heard what Corinne is going to wear?” asked Elizabeth.
“White lace over pink, I believe; at least that is what Flo Harris told me.”
This promised to be very fine attire, thought Elizabeth, yet she was comforted by what Betsy had said—that not half the girls would have real party dresses and would go in whatever might be the most appropriate thing they had.
The next day saw Corinne and Bess driving around town in a pony-cart delivering the invitations. Corinne had spoken her mind when they first started forth. “If you are going to invite that red-headed Elizabeth Hollins you can count me out,” she said.
“Oh, but Corinne, I have to,” replied Bess. “Grandmother and mamma made out the list and her name was one of the first. I really have nothing to do with it, you see.”
“We’ll manage some way,” declared Corinne. “Just you leave it to me. She lives so far out that we will have to leave it till the last, anyway, and I doubt if we get through in time to go there, so we can take it to the post-office.”
“Oh, but,—” began Bess, slightly disturbed, yet not exactly seeing how mailing an invitation would prevent its reaching its destination.
“Now see here,” continued Corinne, “which would you rather would come to the party, Elizabeth or I?”
Bess remembered the lace-over-pink frock which would add glory to her entertainment and promptly replied: “You, of course.”