"Anything you please," said Patty, obligingly. "I'll stand on a stool with the ball-gown in the air ready to drop it over her head the moment she appears, like a harness on a fire-horse. Is everything out here done? What time is it?"
"Yes; everything's done, and it's five minutes of eight. We can begin as soon as the audience is ready."
They peered through the folds of the heavy velvet curtain at the sea of faces in front. Eight hundred girls in light evening-gowns were talking and laughing and singing. Snatches of song would start up in one corner and sweep gaily over the house, and sometimes two would meet and clash in the center, to the horror of those who preferred harmony to volume.
"Here come the old girls!" said Patty, as a procession of some fifty filed into reserved seats near the front. "There are loads of last year's class back. What are the juniors doing? Look; I believe they are going to serenade them."
The juniors rose in a body, and, turning to their departed sister class, sang a song notable for its sentiment rather than its meter.
"I do hope it will be a success," sighed Georgie. "If it doesn't come up to last year's senior play I shall die."
"Oh, it will," said Patty, reassuringly. "Anything would be better than that."
"Now the glee club's going to sing two songs," said Georgie. "Thank heaven, they're new!" she added fervently. "And the orchestra plays an overture, and then the curtain goes up. Run and tell them to come out here, ready for the first act."
Lord Bromley was standing in the wings disgustedly viewing the banquet-table. "See here, Patty," he called as she hurried past. "Look at this stuff Georgie Merriles has palmed off on us for wine. You can't expect me to drink any such dope as that."
Patty paused for an instant. "What's the matter with it?" she inquired, pouring out some in a glass and holding it up to the light.