"Splendid!" It was the elder woman. "I think every little girl should have those. And later on, I suppose, Greek and Latin?"
"I've thought of Spanish and Italian."
"Eventually," informed Miss Royle, with a conscious, sinuous shift from foot to foot, "Gwendolyn will have seven tongues at her command."
"How chic!" Once more the gloved hand was extended—to pat the pink-satin hair-bow.
Gwendolyn accepted the pat stolidly. Her eyes were fixed on her mother's face.
Now, the elder of the strangers drew closer. "I wonder," she began, addressing her hostess with almost a coy air, "if we could induce you to take lunch with us down-town. Wouldn't that be jolly, Louise?"—turning.
"Awfully jolly!"
"Do come!"
"Oh, do!"
"Moth-er!"