“That old woman’s going to have the time of her life to-morrow night,” Lena said, as the two girls walked towards the Avenue.
“I don’t suppose she’s got a decent thing to wear,” Eva grumbled.
Lena turned on her like a flash. “I don’t care if she’s got nothing but a nightgown to wear, she shall have a good time for once if I can make her!” she stormed. “Talk about your Mrs. Barlow!” And Eva subsided into cowed silence.
At quarter of eight the next evening, the two girls saw Nancy Rextrew standing on the corner of Tenth Street and the Avenue, peering anxiously first one way and then the other.
“Oh!” groaned Eva. “Lena Barton, look at the shawl she’s got on. I bet it’s a hundred years old—and that bonnet!”
“If it’s a hundred years old it’s an antique and worth good money!” retorted Lena. “Hurry up!”
But Eva hung back. “I’d be ashamed forever if any of the boys should see me with her,” she half whimpered.
Lena stopped short and stamped her foot, heedless of interested passers-by. “Then go back!” she cried. “And you needn’t hang around me any more. Go back, I say!” Without another glance at Eva she hurried on, and Eva sulkily followed.
Rapturous relief swept the anxiety from old Nancy’s little triangle of a face as she caught sight of the two girls.
“’Fraid you’ve been waitin’ an age,” Lena greeted her breezily. “I couldn’t get off as early as I meant to. Come on now—we won’t lose any more time,” and slipping her arm under Nancy’s, she swept her, breathless and beaming, towards the brilliantly-lighted show-place.