Madeleine seized on the box, and tore it open with one of her vigorous, competent gestures. “Orchids!” she shouted in a single volcanic burst of appreciation. “I never had orchids sent me in my life! Paul must have telegraphed for them. You can’t buy them in Endbury. And here’s a note that says it’s to be answered at once, while the boy waits—Oh, my! Oh, my!”
“Lydia, dear, here’s the caterer, after all. Will you just please say one thing. Would you rather have the coffee or the water-ices served upstairs—Oh, here’s your Aunt Julia—Julia Sandworth, I never needed advice more.”
Mrs. Sandworth’s appearance was the chord which resolved into one burst of sound all the various motives emitted by the different temperaments in the room. Every one appealed to her at once.
“Just a touch of gold braid on the collar, next the face, don’t you—”
“Why not a real supper at midnight, with creamed oysters and things, as they do in the East?”
“Do you see anything out of the way in publishing the details of Miss Lydia’s dress the day before? It gives people a chance to know what to look for.”
“NO, NO; I CAN'T—SEE HIM—I CAN'T SEE HIM ANY MORE—”
“How can we avoid that awful jam-up there is on the stairs when people begin to—”