Jean, stopping long enough to twitch the chairs into place, went primly to the door.
"Good-morning," said a familiar voice, "I've come to return your visit. It's all right, James. You needn't wait."
"Come back, girls," called Jean, when she had ushered the caller in. "It's Henrietta."
"What luck!" cried Henrietta, pulling off her gloves. "Now I can make a long, long call instead of four short ones. What are you doing—Christmas presents? Give me a spool of fine white thread, some pins and a sofa pillow. I'm going to make one, too."
"Take off your things," said Jean, smilingly.
Henrietta wriggled out of her jacket and tossed her hat on the couch.
"What is it going to be?" asked Bettie, watching the merry visitor's deft fingers fly to and fro.
"Lace," returned Henrietta. "I learned to make it in France. Of course these aren't the right materials for very fine lace, but I can make an edge for a pincushion or a mat. I like to do things with my fingers."
"Can you draw?" asked Bettie.