In a few minutes they all went inside, and Marjorie continued to admire everything in a most informal manner.
“But I shouldn’t think your father and mother would care to turn it over to a mob of school-girls for the summer,” she remarked.
“Well, we’re not exactly babies,” laughed Marie Louise. “And they said they’d be delighted—it’s so much nicer than closing it up entirely.”
“Much nicer for us, of course,” agreed Marjorie.
“Would you like to see the rest of it?” suggested her hostess, politely.
“Love to!”
They went from room to room, each one of which bore the stamp of newness, the testimony of careful usage. The white paint glistened beneath the gleam of the electric lights, the curtains and draperies appeared to have been put up fresh that morning, the furniture to have recently arrived from the store. Everything was simple, immaculate, and in perfect taste; Marjorie could not imagine a more delightful house for a group of girls to live in.
“But how could we ever keep it in such spotless order?” she asked, after she had expressed her appreciation of its beauty. “Things will get out of place—”
“Oh, we would keep Mrs. Munsen—our housekeeper,” explained Marie Louise. “I wouldn’t think of attempting it without her. Besides, she’s a very superior woman, and could act as a sort of chaperone, you know.”
“Yes; otherwise you couldn’t have the boys come to see you,” put in Doris, who had accompanied them upon their tour of inspection.