The General looked soberly after her sister as she danced lightly out of the kitchen. Rosalie was quite too terribly lovely for anything—that was really what made her such a Problem. And her eyes were full of dazzling witching lights, and dangerous dark shadows, her lips were rosy, pouty, tempting lips, her skin was a pearly pink and white, and her voice melting melody.
"She is Problem enough now—what will she be a little later on?" thought the General anxiously as she took a loving look at her dumplings.
"Where is Miss Carlton?" asked Rosalie, returning promptly. "Father says he will come immediately. Aren't the girls home yet? I suppose I must set the table then. I think you should speak to them, Doris—they are never here when you want them. Where is Miss Carlton? Won't she be here for dinner?"
"No, not—"
"Goody!—Doris, do you think she—has her eye on father?"
"Why, Rosalie, whatever put such a notion as that into your head?" Doris was all wide-eyed astonishment.
"Well, perhaps it is not nice of me to mention it, but she is always tagging him about, and telling him how clever he is, and she is always saying how much we need a mother— Oh, she's all right, of course—not my type at all, but—I am glad she won't be home for dinner. Doris, will you ask father if we may go to the Country Club da—party next week? They may dance, but we won't have to. I could do it though as easy as not. This is the first time they have asked us to a strictly town affair, and we just have to go. This is the way they dance that new step the girls are raving about. See? Three steps this way, one, two, three; one, two, three; hippity hip—"
"Rosalie!" gasped Doris. "Wherever did you learn that?"