Ida opened her mouth as well as her eyes. “The Junior Prom? I never thought of it. Of course I’d be asked, Greg being in the Junior Class and all——”
“Naturally.”
Ida frowned. “Well, I ain’t going. I said I wouldn’t go anywheres—to any swell blowouts, until I’m as big as anybody there.”
“But the School of Mines is composed of young men of all classes. Each asks his friends. The Prom is anything but an exclusive affair. You go out to the Garden dances on Friday nights in summer?”
“Oh, in that jam—and everybody wearing their suits, or any old thing——”
“Well, I think you should go to the Prom. Mr. Compton is the star pupil in the School of Mines. The professors talk of no one else. I rather think your absence would cause comment.”
“Well—maybe I’ll go. I’d like to all right. But I can’t wear low-neck. I guess you know it wouldn’t do.”
“No doubt you are right.” Ora made no attempt at conversion; it was encouraging that Ida had certain inclinations toward good taste, even if they were prompted by expediency.
“Jimminy, but your room’s pretty!” exclaimed Ida. “Mine’s pink—but lawsy!”
She gazed about the room, which, although she never had seen the sea, recalled descriptions of its shells washed by its foam. She knit her brows. “I guess it takes experience, and seein’ things,” she muttered. Her eyes travelled to the little bed in one corner. It would have looked like a nun’s, so narrow and inconspicuous was it, had it not been for its cover of pale pink satin under the same filmy lace.