The dining-room table, with its candles, its flowers, and its shining new silver, looked as attractive as the rest of the furnishings, and the girls could not help exclaiming informally at its beauty. From the very beginning of the affair, the party promised to be a success. The dinner was as appetizing as if it had been prepared by a French chef; the hostess was at her best; and the guests entered heartily into the general gaiety. They talked of everything under the sun except the strange occurrences at the tea-house; everyone seemed loath to mention a subject that even bordered on the unpleasant.
“I’m going to be very informal,” announced Doris, as they finally rose from the table, “and ask you what you would like to do. Dance—play bridge—have the radio—?”
“No!” interrupted Marjorie, laughingly. “Those things are all nice, but let’s just talk! It’s so warm, and your porch looks alluring.”
“All right—fine!” agreed Doris. “At least if that plan suits everybody.”
“Admirably,” said Jack, lighting the cigarette his host had just offered him.
When they were all comfortably seated on the porch, Roger himself brought up the subject of the tea-house mystery.
“Any more excitement at the tea-house?” he asked, carelessly.
“Not a bit!” sighed Marjorie. “And the policemen have given us up as hopeless.”
“I imagine they thought Anna was hysterical, and dreamed it all,” said Ethel.
“Maybe she did!” laughed Jack.