“So shall I. But the Belle of the Ball, here, is all right, isn’t she?”
“Yes; or,—no,—I’ll put on her very bestest frock, all lace and frills. Well, turn back home, then and come for us again at five. It’s Milly’s bed-time at six, but no matter, if we provide her a home and a career.”
At five, then, Chick returned, and found a resplendent pair awaiting him. Patty wore one of her prettiest afternoon frocks, of Dolly Varden silk, and Milly was in gossamer linen and laces, hidden beneath her white cloth coat.
She was in effervescent spirits and babbled continuously in her merry little way.
At the house, the maid in the cloak-room stared hard at the baby, but said no word as she drew off the little coat sleeves.
Patty looked Milly over, critically, perked up her enormous pink hair-bow, and shook out her frills, then they went to the drawing-room, meeting Chick at the door.
“I feel a mad desire to giggle,” he said, as he caught sight of Patty, and Milly toddling beside her.
“I feel a mad desire to run away,” she returned. “Stand by me, Chick.”
“A la mort!” he replied, and they entered the reception.