At this moment the front door opened quietly, closed again, footsteps were heard coming along the hall, and Patricia and Clarice entered.
“Tell us just everything,” ordered Anne, making places on Jane’s bed for the newcomers.
“Well,” began Patricia slowly, “a maid led us into the living room, which is that room in front where the big bay window is; and there, before the fire, sat a tiny, white-haired old lady with the keenest brown eyes I have ever seen.”
“They bored right through one,” contributed Clarice.
“She never said a word to us, only looked up, and then tried to quiet her white Spitz which began to bark his head off at us.”
“I should think she’d be used to noise, if she has one of those,” observed Hazel; “they sho’ do bark.”
Just then Mrs. Vincent slipped into the room, and, sitting down beside Clarice, slid an arm around her, while the girls exchanged significant glances.
“When Mrs. Brock got the dog quieted down,” continued Patricia, “I said that we had come to represent the girls on our floor, and apologize for the excessive noise tonight; that we had not intended to annoy anyone, and had not even thought of it as a possibility; we were only having a little party among ourselves.”
“‘Drinking party, I suppose!’ she snapped, looking us over from head to foot, for she hadn’t asked us to sit down.”
“I’ll bet she knows how many buttons are on my blouse, and even where one buttonhole is torn,” observed Clarice.