“Are we really—invited by—Gloria?” questioned Lilian, halting before the luminous name of the freshman president. “Isn’t that wonderful of her to give a party for Mother!”
Gloria, adorable in white furs, met them at the doorway of Boyd’s, and greeted Mrs. Moore with her own delightful impulsiveness.
“I’m so glad to know you, Mrs. Moore,” she said with that pretty earnestness for which Gloria was famed throughout the freshman class. “It was awfully good of the girls to let me have you for a luncheon party. You know, mothers are scarce around these parts, and if we can’t have our own, we lie awake nights planning the best way to ensnare somebody else’s, whenever one comes visiting. So please excuse us if we act as if you belonged to us all instead of just to Lilian.”
And Mrs. Moore looked straight into the clear-blue eyes of the tall red-haired idol of the freshmen, and said she was only too glad to be adopted by any and all of her daughter’s friends.
Something went grey and blank in Gloria’s wonderful eyes before her searching gaze, and the lashes swept down. The tall, graceful figure drew itself more erect, as if she were on guard in some way. And Mrs. Moore dropped the warm hand she had been holding, with a sigh.
The beautiful hostess led the way upstairs into the dining room and was shown to a long table that had been reserved for her.
With much throwing aside of velvet coats and furs, the friends seated themselves around the guest of honor and leaned forward, their elbows quite frankly on the table.
Every girl was laughing and talking, with the single exception of Gloria herself. As the little luncheon progressed, with the whole table in a happy uproar, Gloria’s abstraction became more and more noticeable.
Celebrities are entitled to their moods. So no one spoke of Gloria’s for some time.
Then Peggy leaned over and whispered, “Come back to us, won’t you?”