"Of that guarantee of respectability I am, of course, not quite so sure," said her Father.
With a temperish stamping of feet, an infuriate yank of the door-bell, Uncle Wally's chauffeur announced that the limit of his endurance had been reached.
Blankly Flame's Mother stared at Flame's Father. Blankly Flame's Father returned the stare.
"Oh, p-l-e-a-s-e!" implored Flame. Her face was crinkled like fine crêpe.
"Smooth out your nose!" ordered her Mother. On the verge of capitulation the same familiar fear assailed her. "Will you promise not to see the Lay Reader?" she bargained.
"—Yes'm," said Flame.
PART II
