"Like a raffle, a fish pond, and—several other things that I fear I paid no attention to. All I remember is that I was deputed to get some one to act as a fortune-teller."
"Cornelia's the girl for that," cried Mazie. "She's a regular clip at reading palms, men's palms especially. Oh, she can do it slick. Why, she can give you a worse character than Chiro."
"What luck. The fact is, Cornelia, the committee had you in mind. May I count on you? You shall be mistress of a gypsy tent."
"No, Robert le Diable, a thousand times, no! Don't you know my habits better than to invite me to a ball?"
It had pleased Cornelia to "live in seclusion" as she called it, for some time past.
"I know you don't go to dances, Cornelia. Neither do I. But think of the opportunity we'll have of talking undisturbed and finding out what other dislikes we have in common. While the rest go on with the dance, our joy will be unconfined."
"Indeed! And in return for your improving conversation, I'm to make up characters for silly people who never had any? No, thank you. I don't propose to spend half an evening letting tiresome people bore me, and the other half watching the fine art of dancing degraded into an orgy of fox-trots and jazz steps."
Mazie stuck her tongue out when Cornelia wasn't looking, and Claude responded with a sympathetic wink.
"Don't be a spoil-sport, Cornelia!" said Mazie, hitting the nail on the head. "What is Rob to do?"
"Yes, what is poor Robin to do, poor thing?" echoed Claude.