Calliope Poole
As I finished reading, I saw that Hattie May had sunk into the Morris chair and was fanning herself violently with a copy of “Queens of the Screen.” Staging mock fainting fits is one of her pet stunts.
“Of course,” I said apologetically, “she didn’t realize quite how that last sentence would sound.”
“Yes, written things often sound quite different than one means them,” agreed Eve comfortably.
Hattie May came to life. “What did you say her first name was—I didn’t seem to get it?”
“Calliope,” I repeated. “Dad said her mother was sort of romantic when she was young, read poetry a lot and all that. Calliope was a Muse of poetry, I believe.”
Hattie May giggled. “It does amuse all right,” she said.
I ignored this. I felt that it was now or never with me. That the moment had come to speak of the all important matter with which, ever since the arrival of Aunt Cal’s letter, my heart had been bursting. If by any wild miracle, I could persuade Eve Fordyce to go to Fishers Haven with me, half the battle would be over. I felt that I could bear any number of dour-faced relatives with Eve along. But what would she think of such an invitation? It didn’t promise much for a clever girl like Eve.
I was trying desperately to think how to begin when Eve herself took the words out of my mouth. “Well, darling, who are you going to take along with you on your mission of cheer?”
I plunged. “Why,” I began, “of course Hattie May can’t go because her family expects her home and—well, she wouldn’t care ’bout it anyway. But I thought, maybe—that is, it just occurred to me because of your mother’s being abroad and all—I wondered, that is—of course it won’t be exciting or anything like a regular seashore resort——.”