Henrietta, her hands in her pockets, was leaning against the fence and humming a tune. Her voice, in speaking, was very nicely modulated—which was fortunate, because she used it a great deal. She straightened up when the door opened.
"I'm an icicle," said she. "I hope that chocolate's good and hot. My! What a nice big cup! And wafers! I'm glad I stayed for your party. I've had chocolate in France, in Germany, in Italy, in Switzerland and in England, but I do believe this is the very first time I've had any in America."
"I'm sorry," said Jean, "that you have to have your first on the sidewalk."
"I shan't, next time," promised Henrietta. "I have a beautiful plan. I made it while waiting for the chocolate. You're all to come after school to-morrow and pay me a formal call. Then I'll return it. After that, I suspect I shall be allowed to run in. But first you'll have to call, formally."
"A formal call!" gasped Bettie.
"We never made a formal call in all our lives," objected Jean.
"They're dreadful," agreed Henrietta, "but in this case you'll really have to do it. I've planned it all nicely. In the first place, you must hand your cards to the butler——"
"Cards!" gasped Jean and Bettie.
"Cards!" snorted Mabel, flushing indignantly. "We haven't a card to our names!"