"Where did you spend last night?" asked Mrs. Balcome, rising. Anger took the place of grief, for Hattie was wearing an adorable house frock culled from her trousseau—a frock combined of rose voile and French gingham. And such a selection on this particular morning——
Hattie sauntered to the sun-dial. "Last night?" She pointed to that upper guest-room window.
Her mother was shocked. "You don't mean to tell me that you slept here!"
"When the telephone wasn't ringing,"—whereat Ikey grinned.
"You slept here unchaperoned?"
"Oh, Sue was home."
"Oh, what's the matter with you, Hattie? You're not like other girls!"
"Well, have I been raised like other girls?"
At this, Mrs. Balcome became fully roused. "You'll pack your things and come right out of that house!" she cried. "Do you hear me?"
"Yes, mother.—Ikey dear, find Mr. Farvel and tell him his breakfast is ready." Then with a proprietary air, "And Miss Balcome says he must eat it while it's hot."