“Not really,” David said, “she’s as sound as a nut. She’s only going through the different stages.”
“To pass deliberately through one’s ages,” Beulah quoted, “is to get the heart out of a liberal education.”
“Bravo, Beulah,” Gertrude cried, “you’re quite in your old form to-night.” 178
“Is she just the same little girl, David?” Margaret asked.
“Just the same. She really seems younger than ever. I don’t know why she doesn’t come down. There she is, I guess. No, it’s only Alphonse letting in Jimmie.”
Jimmie, whose spirits seemed to have revived under the holiday influence, was staggering under the weight of his parcels. The Christmas presents had already accumulated to a considerable mound on the couch. Margaret was brooding over them and trying not to look greedy. She was still very much of a child herself in relation to Santa Claus.
“Merry Christmas!” Jimmie cried. “Where’s my child?”
“Coming,” David said.
“Look at the candy kids. My eyes—but you’re a slick trio, girls. Pale lavender, pale blue, and pale pink, and all quite sophisticatedly décolleté. You go with the decorations, too. I don’t know quite why you do, but you do.”
“Give honor where honor is due, dearie. That’s owing to the cleverness of the decorator,” David said. 179