It was an early affair; three o'clock, to be exact. And very young September put on her very gayest appearance for me. Father and Sarah, Dr. Bill and Dr. Mac, constituted themselves a Committee on Decoration and Refreshments, and as a consequence we had a lawn gay with wicker chairs, hammocks, cushions, tables, flags, and flowers; and a very important table loaded with sandwiches, tiny cakes, bonbons, and all manner of cool drinkables. And—then came the crowds! I do believe everyone in Green Hill turned out, from Sammy and his Rosie-of-the-Telegraph (I wonder what happened to the messages during that afternoon? Never mind! No one would have been home to receive them!), to Peter and his small friends and old Granny Wallace, who drove up in a dilapidated buggy, and wore a new black bonnet for the occasion. I wore—and this will interest you—the mauve and turquoise negligée, with various additions. One was a bunch of the loveliest, glowingest orchids you have ever seen, which was brought to me by Mr. John Denton, who made a flying half-hour's return trip for the express purpose, he said, of kissing my hands and delivering the flowers, which he assured me came from the donor of Wiggles. A card with the orchids read, "To match a delightful costume." So Mr. Denton, the villain, has been talking! Under my laces, I wore Richard Warren's jade lucky-piece, and in honor of the occasion I decorated Wiggles, much to his disgust, with a huge purple bow. It was very becoming to his lively and brunette beauty, as all who saw him will attest.
It was a dear afternoon. Everyone was so happy for me. They fairly overwhelmed me with good wishes and affectionate, optimistic prophecies. My two medicos kept a very stern guard over me. It seemed as if I couldn't get rid of one or the other for more than a moment at a time. But I had Dr. Mac in a perfectly beautiful rage by accusing him of trying to steal the Scandinavian heart of Hildeborg, my massive masseuse. Oh yes, she was there too, marvellously gotten up, her yellow head very much in the foreground and her big voice booming out at the most inopportune moments in more than the most inopportune remarks, thereby greatly endangering the preservation of gravity in those present. Her public advice to Dr. Mac, along lines of reduction, was extremely exhilarating!
We had music, rendered slightly off key, but with all the good will in the world, by the Green Hill Musical Four, consisting of a Simpson, a Watkins, and the Jones twins, who performed respectively upon a cornet, a violin, a banjo, and a mouth-organ. It was, Diary, the very last word in successful parties. Only one thing occurred to cast any shadow over a wonderful day. And, of all people selected by an unkind Fate to sully my happiness, it was Peter who, to mix metaphors somewhat, cast the first stone. In the presence of at least six villagers, including Granny Wallace, the town gossip, he regarded my frivolity of a lace and ribbon cap, and asked, as solemnly as a mouth full to capacity with cake would permit, "Mavis, how do you set your cap?"
"How do I what?" I asked in all innocence, one hand to my headgear.
"Set it," he repeated. "Sally says that Adeline says that you are setting your cap for Doctor Denton!"
Adeline, Diary, is Sally's sister, and Dr. Denton's cook.
Several in the group about me laughed, and Granny Wallace's ears grew visibly in length.
"I can't imagine what you mean, Peterkins," I answered with well-assumed carelessness, and turned to talk volubly with Mrs. Goodrich, who was adding to the gaiety by saying audibly, "Hush, Peter!"
But Peter was not to be silenced.
"Sally says," he protested, in his clear little voice, "that Adeline says she told doctor Denton about it, your cap, you know, and that he laughed out loud and said you could for all of him!"