“It’s Irishness,” she said. “They’re all nice dancers, I notice; all those downtrodden, suffering nations, Poles and Irish, and so on. Queer, isn’t it?”
The invitations circulated mysteriously and casually, and were as casually accepted. But it was none the less a festivity which required great preparations. Rosaleen bought a new dress and Miss Mell made over an old one. But Enid refused to make any further concession than a new blouse, to be worn with her everyday skirt. And yet, on the night of the party, when she was dressed, she was amazing. It was a low cut blouse, and quite thin enough to reveal the matchless lines of her shoulders, the perfection of her supple arms, her lovely throat. And she wore a pearl necklace, a genuine one, which she never explained. It was the first time that Rosaleen had realised her striking beauty, or the full extent of her arrogant charm. Even in her new dress, with her hair arranged so prettily, she felt, for a moment, just a little miserable beside Enid.
Miss Mell was dumpy and unobtrusive and correct, and according to her custom, completely covered by a large gingham apron until the last minute. She and Rosaleen cooked the early dinner, but Rosaleen couldn’t eat and she would hardly allow them to, either. She hurried them so anxiously, so that she could get everything ready before the party came. Enid sprinkled powdered wax on the floor, and Rosaleen and Miss Mell pushed all the furniture back against the walls. Then they lighted all the candles, under their purple and yellow shades; then on a table in a corner they arranged their refreshments, salad, cake and sandwiches got from Miss Gosorkus, and a bowl of punch. Miss Mell had oiled the phonograph and bought some new records, and she instructed Rosaleen in the art of manipulating it.
“Be careful when you wind it up!” she cautioned. “Something’s wrong. It rocks so. I’m afraid of its tipping off the table.”
The preparations were completed very early, and the happy Rosaleen had nothing to do but sit near the window to wait, where she could see the lights glittering up Fifth Avenue, and the buses sailing to and fro.
Presently Enid joined her, sat on the window sill, perfectly still, perfectly silent. She didn’t even move when Lawrence came in, urbane and indulgent, in evening dress. Rosaleen and Miss Mell welcomed him with smiles; they were, and they were willing to show that they were, tremendously flattered at his coming to their party.
“I’ve brought some champagne,” he said. “It’s in the hall, in a pail of ice.”
“How nice!” said Miss Mell.
He bowed politely. Then he turned his attention to Enid, sitting on the window sill.
“Well, my beauty!” he said, in his harsh voice, “Looking out there for a new sweetheart?”