“Wales,” suggested Betty, smiling at the child because she was so pretty, and because she had been so comical about gargles and gargoyles at Georgia’s party.
“Wales.” Eugenia accepted the correction gravely. “I want a table for twelve persons to-morrow, for a one o’clock luncheon. This is the menu that I want served. I shall have my flowers sent here, and I suppose you can arrange them. Here are my place-cards, and this list gives the order that I want them arranged in. I want the front stall.” Eugenia completed her directions without relaxing one iota of her unsmiling dignity.
“I’m sorry,” Betty told her, “but the front stall is engaged for to-morrow. You can have the third—that’s just as large—or the big round table out here.”
“But I like the candle-shades in the first stall better,” announced Eugenia calmly. “Change them to the third, and give me that. And please serve us very promptly, because some of the girls have afternoon engagements.” And Eugenia started off.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ford,” Betty called after her, “but the girl who engaged the first stall particularly wanted those candle-shades. They are understood to belong to the stall, you know.”
Eugenia’s smooth white forehead puckered itself into a disagreeable frown. “Very well,” she said crossly, “but you ought to have two sets of that kind of shade. They’re the only pretty ones in the place.” And she rustled off, annoyance in every line of her dainty little figure.
Betty smiled sadly after her. “I suppose she’s forgotten that she ever met me. Freshmen have so many people to remember. Madeline will be pleased to know her opinion of all those candle-shades that she’s so proud of.”
Betty arranged Eugenia’s roses herself, and inspected every detail of the table with great care. Last of all she put around the place-cards in the order that Eugenia had specified. Georgia’s name was on one, and Lucile’s, and Polly’s, and the fluffy-haired Dutton twins’—the one who wrote such cunning verses and was sure to go into Dramatic Club the first time. It was plainly what Katherine used to call a “polite, politic” luncheon.
Unfortunately for Eugenia she was late in arriving—or her guests were early. When she hurried in, looking prettier than ever because her cheeks were flushed with her quick walk down the hill and her eyes sparkling in anticipation of a triumphant occasion, she found Georgia, Polly, Lucile, and the Dutton twins all hanging over Betty’s desk, so absorbed in their conversation that they entirely failed to notice the advent of their small hostess.
“Oh, here you are,” began Eugenia, with a vague little nod toward the group. “Shall we go and sit down while we wait for the others? Our table is all ready, I think.”