"She fears for her nephew; as if Helen would look at him! But the newspapers have hurt Helen. I wish she'd announce her engagement; she has the cards in her hands, but she's got to play 'em; and poor Strathay's so devoted!—Why didn't you shade the lights Tuesday at your dinner? In that glare we were all worse frights beside her than usual."
"I hate murky rooms!" I cried, breaking out upon them, for I couldn't stand it any longer. "It's your 'rose of yesterday' who insists on twilight and shaded candles. I enjoy electricity!"
Meg gazed at me in despair.
"Helen, are you really bent on making enemies?" she asked. "What did Ann Fredericks do?"
I couldn't have answered; it would have been no answer to say that she angers me with a supercilious stare; but the trouble of replying was spared me, for Mrs. Henry appeared that minute in the doorway, greeting me in her nervous puffy voice:—
"How well you look!" she said. "Such a treat to get a peep at you! Peggy really must try your dressmaker—but she's so disappointed! You must let me beg of you—just like an own daughter and Peggy couldn't think more of a sister! You will reconsider—"
Something in the way she thrust forward her head reminded me of how her tiara slipped and hitched about, on the night of her dance, and how Ned and I giggled when it had to be repinned.
"I'm afraid Peggy should have consulted me earlier," I said with a spite born of the recollection.
It would have been more than mortal not to take offense at that. Mrs. Henry's face grew red, and after a few perfunctory words she and Meg left, and Mrs. Whitney went out with them.
As Mrs. Henry backed into the hall, she almost collided with Kitty, who had just come up.