"Oh, dear, no. Meg Van Dam could face Mausers, but a Red Cross bazaar was as near as she got to the war. We call her the General because—oh, you'll find out. Meg is Mrs. Robert Van Dam."
"Oh, I think I've seen that name in the papers. Aren't they grand people?"
"Why, yes; rather; we don't know the Van Dams; Meg's only just married. You might have read about her mother-in-law, Mrs. Marmaduke Van Dam, or her aunt-in-law, Mrs. Henry Van Dam, or Mrs. Henry's daughters; the family's a tribe. But Meg, why, we went to school with Meg; she's just the General."
My dress came home to-night—white and dainty. Ah, at last I've something to wear that's not "good" and "plain" and "durable"! But there was an outcry, as there has been at every fitting, because I won't wear stays. Eccentric, they call me; as if Nature and beauty were abnormal!
When I was arrayed in it, Aunt and Ethel led me to the library for Uncle's inspection.
"Is to-morrow the day set to exhibit to Helen other aspects of New York than the scholastic?" he asked, looking up from his paper. "The first appearances of a young girl in modern society are said to be comparable with a 'Looking Over by the Pack,' as described by Mr. Kipling. May Mrs. Baloo and Mrs. Bagheera and Mrs. Shere Khan have good hunting to-night, and be kind to-morrow to our womanling."
"Why, Bake, you know just as well as I do there aren't any such people coming. I believe it's just one of your jokes," sputtered Aunt. "Nelly, dear, turn slowly round."
She had dropped on her knees beside me, busy with pins and folds, and Joy was lisping the caution, born perhaps of experience, "Don't you thoil it, Cothin Nelly, or Nurthey'll vip you," when Milly came into the library; and with her was Mr. Hynes.
"Lovely! Isn't it, Ned?" cried Milly. "It's for to-morrow."
Mr. Hynes scarcely glanced at the dress, then looked away again, with indifference that somehow hurt me.