There followed such an orgy of beating, pounding, flapping, brushing, swashing, and scrubbing as no corps of able-bodied men could have survived. The women emerged from it with shrivelled fingers, broken nails, and aching spines, but the Prairie Avenue house was clean, even to the backs of the pictures. After it was over Lottie had a Turkish bath, a manicure, and a shampoo and proclaimed herself socially accessible.
Hulda drank coffee happily, all day. Great-aunt Charlotte announced that she thought she'd have some of the girls in for the afternoon. She invited a group of ancients whose names sounded like the topmost row of Chicago's social register. Their sons or grandsons were world-powers in banking, packing, grain-distribution. Some of them Aunt Charlotte had not seen in years. They rolled up in great fat black limousines and rustled in black silks as modish as Aunt Charlotte's own. Lottie saw to the tea and left them absolutely alone. She heard them snickering and gossiping in their high plangent voices. They bragged in a well-bred way about their sons or grandsons or sons-in-law. They gossiped. They reminisced.
"And do you remember when the Palmer House barber shop floor was paved at intervals with silver dollars and the farmers used to come from miles around to see it?"
"There hasn't been a real social leader in Chicago since Mrs. Potter Palmer died."
"Yes, I know. She's tried. But charm—that's the thing she hasn't got. No. She thinks her money will do it. Never."
"Well, it seems——"
What a good time they were having, Lottie thought. She had set the table in the dining room. There were spring flowers and candles. She saw that they were properly served, but effaced herself. She sensed that her presence would, somehow, mar Aunt Charlotte's complete sense of freedom, of hospitality, of hostesship.
They did not leave until six. After they were gone Aunt Charlotte stepped about the sitting room putting the furniture to rights. She was tired, but too stimulated to rest. Her cheeks were flushed.
"Minnie Parnell is beginning to show her age, don't you think? Did you see the hat Henrietta Grismore wore? Well, I should think, with all her money! But then, she always was a funny girl. No style."
When, two days later, Lottie had Emma Barton and Winnie Steppler to dinner Aunt Charlotte kept her room. She said she felt a little tired—the spring weather perhaps. She'd have just a bite on a tray if Jeannette would bring it up to her; and then she'd go to bed. Do her good. Lottie, understanding, kissed her.