“I can’t understand it,” said Lydia, “when I’m reading it. But when I look away and think, I can, a little bit. I love it. It makes me feel like crying. It’s all about our inner life.”
“My dear Lydia, you put your hat right on and go over to have a little visit with Marietta. What you need is a little fresh air and some sensible talk. I’ve been too busy with my invitation list to visit with you as I ought. Marietta’ll be real glad to see you. Here’s your hat. Now, you run right along, and stop at Hallam’s on the way and get yourself an ice-cream soda. It’s hot, and that’ll do you good.”
As Lydia was disappearing docilely out of the door, her mother stopped before going back to her desk and the list of guests for the garden-party, which had been torturing her with perplexity, to say, “Oh, Lydia, don’t forget to ask Marietta to order the perforated candles.”
“Perforated—!” said Lydia blankly, pausing at the door.
“Yes; don’t you remember, the last time Mrs. Hollister called here she told us all about them.”
“No, I don’t remember,” said Lydia, with no shade of apology in her tone.
“Why, my dear! You’re getting so absent-minded! Do you mean to say you didn’t take in anything of what she was talking about? It’s a new kind, that has holes running through it so the melted wax runs down the inside! Why, we were talking about them the whole time she was here that last call.”
Lydia opened the door, observing vaguely, “Oh, yes; I do seem to remember something. It was a very dull visit, anyhow.”
Mrs. Emery returned to her list, pursing up her lips and wagging her head. “You’ll have to learn, dearie, that it’s little details like that that make the difference between success and failure.”
“We have electric light and gas,” said Lydia.