“She can be a member if she wants to,” said King, condescendingly; “only if she is, she must take what she gets.”
“Well, she’ll be here pretty soon, and I’ll warn her,” said Mr. Maynard.
“No,” said his wife, “she’s not coming to-night, after all. I expected her, but she telephoned to-day that she can’t come until to-morrow afternoon.”
“And we leave to-morrow morning! Why, my dear, that’s too bad.”
“Yes; I’m sorry, for there are lots of things I want to tell her. I’ll write a long note and leave it for her. And, Marjorie, I trust to you to welcome her properly, and in every way act like a gracious hostess.”
“I think I’ll practise,” said Midget, jumping up. “Now, you be Miss Larkin, Father, and I’ll be me.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Maynard, going out to the hall, and coming in again.
“Why, how do you do, Marjorie?” he said, offering his hand in exact imitation but not caricature of Miss Larkin’s vivacious manner. Marjorie suppressed a giggle, and gave her hand, as she said:
“How do you do, Miss Larkin? I hope you understand that we’re a very bad crowd of children. At least, King and I are. Kit and Rosy are angels.”
“Indeed! I thought you were the angelic one.”