Peggy laughed at these two who had never learned to become entirely reconciled to each other even after all the close association of living together in the same house. Myra was so impatient and so proud; so well equipped with a good opinion of herself, while Lilian was almost maddeningly willing to be trodden under foot on every occasion.
“Mother says maybe she can absorb a little of college for herself,” Lilian mused, not heeding Myra’s cutting comment, for she had grown used to them.
“When is she coming?” asked Katherine, who glanced around the room of singing girls, and tried to imagine what impression it might make on one who was not a girl any longer, and was seeing it for the first time.
“To-morrow,” answered Lilian, with that same note of doubt in her voice.
“Well,” said Katherine, her eyes still on the shouting young women who rocked to the music they sang, while the piano did its best to be heard above them, “I think we can show her a good time.”
“Will you help me, girls?” cried Lilian, brightening in sudden gratitude.
“Why, of course,” said Katherine, “any guest of any of us is a guest of the house—that is, if the one who is entertaining wants it to be so.”
“I haven’t much for to-morrow,” said Peggy quickly. “I know you have several recitations, Lilian,—we’ll see that she is taken care of every minute from the time she arrives until she leaves us, weeping.”
Peggy’s enthusiasm was beginning to carry her away.
“Let’s go and plan out the hours,” she said to the rest of the group—“just like those schedules they publish in the papers of the way certain great people—and criminals—spend their days: thus, 9 a. m., has breakfast on tray; 10 a. m., sees dressmakers and milliners; 11 a. m., rides in automobile, under guard——”