So I was able to add with some philosophy:—
"I never did have a nice dress, and I'd like something pretty good this time. Why, I haven't nearly spent all my allowance," I cried with kindling enthusiasm, jumping up to pace the floor. "Tell me what I ought to have—just exactly what is most suitable. I don't know much about teas, but I'd like something—fine!"
Aunt's face glowed with excitement. I think she saw in imagination fifty Helens dancing before he eyes in a kaleidoscopic assortment of dresses.
"You're right. We'll get—oh, what shall we—what shall we get that'll be good enough for you?" she cried in a flutter. "Something simple of course, you're so young; but—I'll tell you: We'll go right to Mrs. Edgar!"
Perhaps my own face burned, too.
"Who's she? Some one on the Avenue?"
"No; no one knows her, but—she's a marvel! It'd mean the world and all to her to please some one sure to be noticed, like you. She's a widow; has two children."
So to Mrs. Edgar we went. Her eyes devoured me. She is a mite of a woman, young, white-faced, vivacious.
"For a tea?" she asked. "A—a large one?"
She spoke with forced calmness, but her hands had the artist's flutter, the enthusiast's eagerness to be doing.