A tall girl, somewhat resembling Helena Montaigne, though with less refinement of appearance, had risen as Dorothy moved forward and stood defiantly awaiting what might happen. Her face turned as pink as her rose-trimmed hat but she still retained her haughty pose, as she stiffly returned:
“Quite right. I’m Aurora Blank. These are my friends. That’s my brother. My father owns—I mean—he ought—We came down for a farewell lark. We’d all expected to cruise in her all autumn till—. Have a cup of tea, Miss—Calvert, is it?”
“Yes, I’m Dorothy. This is Elsa Carruthers and this—James Barlow. You seem to be having a lovely time and we won’t disturb you. We’re going to inspect the tender. Ephraim, please help Elsa across when we come to the plank.”
The silence which followed proved that the company of merrymakers was duly impressed by Dolly’s treatment of their intrusion. Also, the dignity with which the old colored man followed and obeyed his small mistress convinced these other Southerners that his “family” was “quality.” Dorothy’s simple suit, worn with her own unconscious “style,” seemed to make the gayer costumes of the Blank party look tawdry and loud; while the eager spirituality of Elsa’s face became a silent reproof to their boisterous fun, which ceased before it.
Only one member of the tea-party joined the later visitors. This was the foppish youth whom Aurora had designated as “my brother.” Though ill at ease he forced himself to follow and accost Dorothy with the excuse:
“Beg pardon, Miss Calvert, but we owe you an apology. We had no business down here, you know, and I say—it’s beastly. I told Rora so, but—I mean, I’m as much to blame as she. And I say, you know, I hope you’ll have as good times in the Lily as we expected to have—and—I’ll bid you good day. We’ll clear out, at once.”
But Dorothy laid her hand on his arm to detain him a moment.
“Please don’t. Finish your stay—I should be so sorry if you didn’t, and you’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”
Gerald Blank stared and asked: