She looked quite the grande dame as she entered the dining room now, in one of the more frivolous black silks, her white hair crimped, a great old-fashioned cabachon gold and diamond brooch fastening the lace at her breast, a band of black velvet ribbon about her neck, her eyes brightly interested beneath the strongly marked black brows. Belle came over and dutifully kissed one withered old cheek. She and Aunt Charlotte had never been close. Henry patted her shoulder as he pulled out her chair. Charley gave her a quick hug to which Great-aunt Charlotte said, "Ouch!"—but smiled. "Dear me, I haven't kept you waiting!"
"You know you have," retorted Mrs. Carrie Payson; and dipped her spoon in the plate of steaming golden fragrant soup before her. Whereupon Great-aunt Charlotte winked at Henry Kemp.
The Friday night dinner was always a good meal, though what is known as "plain." Soup, roast, a vegetable, salad, dessert.
"Well," said Mrs. Carrie Payson, "and how've you all been? I suppose I'd never see you if it weren't for Friday nights."
Charley looked up quickly. "Oh, Gran, I'm sorry but I shan't be able to come to dinner any more on Fridays."
"Why not?"
"My dancing class."
Mrs. Payson laid down her spoon and sat back, terribly composed. "Dancing class! You can change your dancing class to some other night, I suppose? You know very well this is the only night possible for the family. Hulda's out Thursdays; your father and mother play bridge on Wednesdays; Lottie——"
"Yes, I know. But there's no other night."
"You must dance, I suppose?" This Charley took to be a purely rhetorical question. As well say to her, "You must breathe, I suppose?" Mrs. Payson turned to her daughter Belle. "This is with your permission?"