The two lived alone, save for a small army of servants. It was Mr. Forbes’ theory that an American girl is capable of looking after herself, and he desired no governess or companion for his daughter.
So Bernice had grown up, with no other mentor than her own sweet will, for her father never interfered or advised in household matters. There was a housekeeper, but she merely ordered the kitchen department, and had no supervision over Bernice.
The party would have been far more elaborate, had Bernice had her own way. But Dolly, not wanting her protégée to be criticised by the mothers of the Berwick young people, had persuaded her to keep it simpler in details than she wanted to.
“What’s the use of having plenty of money if you don’t spend it?” Bernice had demanded.
And Dolly had not attempted to answer her, but had merely reminded her that she had promised to do her part to reach their mutual goal, and that to abide by Dolly’s decisions would favour their cause.
So there were only three pieces of music instead of a full orchestra. Only a simple, though fine and bountiful supper, instead of the gorgeous repast Bernice would have preferred. And only a proper amount of floral decoration, instead of a city florist’s extreme effort.
But the house looked lovely, and the dining-room, as Dolly flew out to snatch a glance at it, was tastefully arranged.
“Awfully good of you, Mr. Forbes,” said Dolly, smiling at the rather bewildered-looking man, “to let us have this pleasure.”
“Not at all, not at all,” said the railroad magnate, rubbing his hands. “Might just as well have had more. More music, more people, more fal-lals. I said to Bernie, ‘If you’re doing it, why not do it up brown?’ But she said—”
“She said, ‘This is brown,’ ” said Dolly, laughing. “And it is, Mr. Forbes. You know yourself, Bernie is too young for a real live ball, and that’s what it would be, if she had it much more grand than this. How beautiful your house is,” and Dolly looked around admiringly.