At three o’clock on the afternoon of Sunday, the sixteenth, Eugenia hung out a busy sign and curled up on her couch for a much needed nap. When she woke again, it was almost dark. She had promised to go to Vespers with Helena Mason.
“I’m afraid I’m late, but she might have called for me,” reflected Eugenia, getting rapidly into a trailing blue broadcloth dress, which, with a big plumed hat, silver-fox furs, and a huge bunch of violets, was calculated to make a very favorable impression upon the Vespers audience.
When she was ready, Eugenia consulted a diminutive watch. “Quarter to seven!” Her expression of consternation gave way suddenly to relief. “I remember now that it was two hours fast. No—I changed it. Well, it’s surely all wrong.” Eugenia dashed down the hall to Helena Mason’s room. Her hurried knock was answered by a rather grudging “Come in.”
“I’m very sorry to be late,” Eugenia began apologetically.
Miss Mason sat at her desk, writing busily. She turned her head at last, and stared hard at Eugenia.
“I should say you were early myself,” she observed, “but why the plumes and the train?”
Eugenia seized a tiny alarm clock that stood on the floor by the bed, which, for some strange reason, was not made up—at Vespers time on Sunday.
“It is quarter to seven,” she cried aghast. “Why didn’t you call me, and why isn’t it dark, and what do you mean by saying I’m early for Vespers?”
“Eugenia Ford, are you crazy?” inquired Miss Mason sternly.
Poor Eugenia looked ready to cry. “I don’t think I am. Tell me what I’m early for, please.”