Grace capitulated to the incense.
"Frederick, go out and tell them to stop and face this way," commanded Grace, with a benignant smile.
"My de—" began Mrs. Goodchild, mildly.
"I have lived," said Miss Van Schaick in her high-bred, level voice that people admiringly called insulting, "to see a New York society man do something really original. I must ask Beekman Rutgers why his branch of the family did not inherit brains with the real estate."
Mrs. Goodchild gasped—and began to look resigned. From there to pride the jump would be slight. But hers was not a mind that readjusted itself very quickly.
"Oh, look!" and the girls began to read the legends aloud.
The dowagers rose, prompted by the same horrid fear. Chauffeurs were bad enough. But sandwich-men!
The world moves rapidly these days. One week ago these mothers did not know sandwich-men even existed. A new peril springs up every day.
They decided, being wise, not to scold their daughters.
The girls shook hands with Grace with such warmth that she felt as if each had left a hateful wedding-gift in her palm. Mrs. Goodchild went up-stairs weeping or very close to it. She could not see whither it all would lead, and she was the kind that must plan everything in advance to be comfortable. By always using a memorandum calendar she cleverly managed to have something to look forward to in this life.