Milly cried, "How delightful, Meg!" But my tongue tripped and my cheeks flamed as I tried to say that I had never seen an opera and to thank my new friend.
Little she heeded my lack of words. Gazing at me once again as she had upon first seeing me, she exclaimed:—
"You great, glorious creature! They sha'n't hive you in a schoolroom; you must come out and show yourself; why, you'll set New York in a furore!"
I think she's splendid.
No sooner was she gone than I was summoned to the reception-room, and Cadge rushed to meet me. She looked much smarter than Kitty, with her black hair curled and her keen eyes shining with excitement.
"All over but the shouting?" she asked. "Meant to get here in season to see you knock 'em in the Old Kent Road, but woman proposes, Big Tom disposes. Shall I turn in a paragraph? Just—did you have music? What's your dress—in the Sunday society slush, of course, not the daily; 'fraid the Star won't take over a stick—. Greek a little bit? M-m-m—not modistic exactly, but—but—."
Her abrupt sentences grew slower, paused, dropped to an awestruck whisper, as she looked upon me. She added in her gravest manner: "Say, you're the loveliest ever happened! The—very—limit!"
But awe and Cadge could not long live together. In a moment her mouth took a comically benevolent quirk.
"And 'among those present'—" she asked; "who was that leaving just as I got here?"
"Mrs. Robert Van Dam, schoolmate of my cousins. But you're not writing me up, Cadge?"