Then she talked about the dress that Caroline should wear at the party, and the way in which the flowers should be arranged on the table. She was talking to take Caroline’s mind off the scene with the rude little girl from the Conway farm. Caroline saw through her strategy, but she was grateful to her, just the same. She only hoped that Aunt Eunice wouldn’t see her red eyes, and have to be told about what had happened in the garden.
Better than Caroline had dared to hope, they found Aunt Eunice seated on the wide, cool porch, where it was now too dark for features to be distinguished.
“This little girl is running up to bed,” said Cousin Penelope blithely. “We must get our beauty sleep before the party.”
Thankful for this way of escape, Caroline kissed Aunt Eunice good-night and trotted upstairs, to bathe her face and her smarting eyes. How good it was that Aunt Eunice didn’t suspect!
At that moment Aunt Eunice, on the dim, cool porch, was saying in a troubled voice:
“What’s wrong, Penelope? The little thing had been crying. Her cheeks were quite wet. She isn’t—homesick?”
“Not in the least!” replied Penelope, in a crisp voice that defied the whole tribe of Delanes and the entire state of California. “Why should she be homesick, here with us?”
“What was she crying about?”
“Such an annoying little incident, Mother. A child that is staying at the Conways’ scraped acquaintance with Jacqueline on the train and has been trying to force herself upon her ever since. I found her just now with Jacqueline in the garden. She ran away, you may be sure, as soon as I appeared.”
“A child from the Meadows?” exclaimed Aunt Eunice. “Why, she is ever so far from home, and it’s dark.”