“What elegance,” cried Betty, holding her shining silver marker out at arm’s length for inspection. “And what shall we bring you, Eleanor, dear?”
“A duke, if you don’t mind,” said Eleanor solemnly, and Betty solemnly wrote it down on the slip of paper on which she was recording all the girls’ wishes.
Roberta gave them each a tiny book of travel sketches not too big to slip into a shopping-bag—one was about English cathedrals, another about English inns, and the third and fourth described some Scotch and English castles.
“They look rather interesting,” said Roberta modestly, “and I remembered that none of you was specially fond of history.”
“Don’t throw it in my face that I once got a low-grade,” Babe reproached her. “Say over again the thing that you wanted, Roberta.”
“A gargoyle,” repeated Roberta.
Betty looked at her despairingly. “Please spell it, Roberta. I suppose Babbie and Madeline know just what it is.”
Babbie looked mystified. “Why should I know anything like that, Betty?”
“Because you’ve been to Paris six separate times,” declared Madeline, “and motored all through France besides. You evidently don’t go in hard for architecture, Babbie.”
“Oh, it’s architecture, is it?” said Babbie in relieved tones. “Then I don’t see how we can bring it home.”