“How many are coming?” asked Christine, who had not entirely overcome her shyness with strangers.
“Well, there’s about ten of our own crowd, and Nan has invited about ten more of the Spring Beach people. The two Sayre girls are awfully jolly; you’ll like them. And Jack Pennington is a dear boy, and so is Guy Martin. And then there’s Dorothy Dennison and her brother,—and Phyllis Norton,—oh, quite a bunch of them! And, Christine, don’t you go cutting up any of your shrinking violet tricks! I want you to be the belle of the ball!”
Elise looked up in surprise, but, seeing the determined expression on Patty’s face, she said nothing; and, if she had her own opinion as to who should be belle of the ball, she expressed it only to herself.
An hour later, the three girls went downstairs together. Patty in the middle, with her sky-blue chiffon frock, was looking her best. The pale blue suited her golden hair and pink cheeks, and the semi-low-cut neck was exceedingly becoming to her rounded throat and chin.
Elise’s green dress was far more elaborate, but her brilliant beauty seemed to call for an ornate setting.
Christine’s gown was perhaps the prettiest of all. Of white crêpe-de-chine, it hung in soft, straight folds, and around the throat was a delicate pearl embroidery. A girdle of pearl-work, with long ends, gave a finishing touch; and on Christine’s willowy figure, and with her Madonna face, the gown was appropriate and effective.
The boys, who were waiting in the hall, exclaimed in vociferous compliment as the girls came slowly down the staircase, and declared that such a trio of beauty had never before been seen.
“Nonsense!” cried Patty. “Don’t you talk to us as if we were grown-up young ladies! We’re only a little bit more than schoolgirls. Just because I’m nineteen, I’m not going to be treated with dignity! Roger, will you dance the first dance with me?”
Roger looked embarrassed, and, though he tried to speak, he hesitated and stammered.
“Why, Patty,—that is,—I’d be only too delighted,—but——”