“It doesn’t seem right that we should just visit you,” said Kathryn.
“Listen! We’ve had that out before, Gypsy Allen. I’m to have my own room and I can have whomever I want—all summer. I expect to keep it full! That’s my reward for being a good girl and getting my lessons, in spite of, well, you know how hard it is to get ’em.”
“We do!” said Kathryn and Betty, “una cum voce.”
“So,” continued Carolyn, “why shouldn’t I have the girls I like best as long as I can induce—them—to—stay?” Carolyn uttered formally the last part of her sentence, with her head in the air and a high and mighty look.
The girls giggled as they settled themselves in the car. “Drive around to Kathryn’s and Betty’s first, please,” said Carolyn to the Gwynne chauffeur, “then home.”
Betty had not had a chance to call up home since Carolyn had invited her and Kathryn “to come out and celebrate.” Both she and Kathryn wanted to get rid of certificates and books, not to mention certain other articles that seemed to persist in staying in lockers. Carelessness or forgetting had nothing to do with that, of course.
“Do you like clams and chowders and things, Betty Lee?” asked Carolyn, after the last stop and delivery of goods, with pleasant permissions to stay at Carolyn’s.
“I liked everything we tried at New York,” replied Betty, “and I know that I’ll just adore all the sea food.”
“You’re going to get it,” Carolyn leaned back against the cushions and stretched forward her stylishly shod toes. “We have beach parties and everything.”
That sounded delightful. Betty had never heard of a beach party. Yet, she supposed she must have read of them in stories. But this was different. She was going to be in one. “And I haven’t told you one delicious secret!”