"Papa is in such a state," Mabel said, "I could not possibly go out and leave him like this. Let us telephone that we cannot come."
Isobel checked the protest that rose to her calm lips. She was ready in a filmy black chiffon gown, and her clear complexion looked startlingly radiant in that framing. She had quite determined to go to the dinner party.
"Let me telephone for you, Mabel," she said with rather a nice concern in her voice. "Then it won't take you away from your father."
Mabel abstractedly thanked her.
"Say Jean is ill please, and that papa is in fits about her. The Gardiners will understand."
Isobel telephoned.
She came back to Mabel with her skirts trailing in little flaunting waves of delicate black.
"They beg me to come. It's so disorganizing for a dinner party. What shall I do?" she asked in an interrogative manner.
Mrs. Leighton said, "Oh, do go, Isobel," politely. "Why should anybody stay at home just because we were so foolish as to let Jean go off to London alone?"
"Oh, well," said Isobel lightly, "when you put it like that, I must."