She looked at her watch. It was a quarter past two. If she went right over to Susie’s she might fix it up, and get back in time to dress.
She flung off her kimono, and quickly donned a linen suit, selecting the one she could get into most easily.
Then she ran down-stairs, and, without a hat or gloves, jumped into the pony-cart, to which Dixie had been harnessed all day, in case of errands, and drove rapidly down the road toward Susie’s.
It happened that no one noticed her going, but Betty did not think of this, so engrossed was she in the matter in hand.
She dashed up to Susie’s door and rang the bell. Mrs. Hale herself opened the door, and from the cold, hard expression on her face, Betty felt that she was unwelcome.
“I’ve come to see Susie, Mrs. Hale,” she said pleasantly. “Isn’t she ready for the party?”
“No, she isn’t!” snapped Mrs. Hale. “She isn’t going to your old party, so you can sing the solos yourself.”
Then Betty understood. Susie had wanted to sing the solos! Betty remembered now that Susie was the soprano of the village choir, and she probably resented Betty’s being asked to sing the solos instead of herself.
“Oh, my gracious!” exclaimed Betty, annoyed at this foolishness, and yet relieved that it could still be set right, “she can sing the solos, of course! I’d much rather she would! Tell her so, won’t you, and ask her to hurry and come.”
Mrs. Hale looked mollified, but she said: