The next afternoon was what she herself called “hideously warm;” and therefore her prettiest white dress, a marvel of lace and embroidery, was evidently just the thing to wear. There was not a touch of black about it; and the creamy softness brought out every tint of the rich brunette coloring, and softened the vivacious girlish beauty into something infinitely charming. She fastened a knot of fragrant tea-rosebuds in her belt, and then, taking her wide-brimmed Leghorn hat in her hand, announced to the housekeeper her intention of walking round to take tea with her aunt, Mrs. Richards.
“It is too hot for dinner, and so you may tell papa and Frank when they come home,” said Pinkie audaciously; “but you might order a freezer of cream to be sent around to Dr. Richards’s; harlequin, mind, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and orange ice. Don’t forget.”
“From Prices’?” asked the housekeeper. “Your papa won’t like your being away at dinner, Miss Pinkie.”
“Then he can do the other thing,” returned the girl carelessly. “‘Prices’? no, certainly not. Our own confectioner.”
“Because I thought,” returned the housekeeper, “as it is late in the afternoon, and every one busy, if you wouldn’t mind, as you have to pass our confectioner’s door”—
“I mean to pass his door,” said the girl. “Do you suppose I’m going in? Nasty hot place, smelling of cake and bread!”
“Very well, miss. I’ll send John to the drug store to telephone. And oh! Miss Pinkie, that poor woman who has been cleaning the house—Tina Kellar, you know—would like to have more work to do, and there are some of the small rooms that need papering”—
“But she’s not a paper-hanger.”
“She’s as good as one, miss; for she papered her own house from top to bottom, and it’s as pretty a job as ever I see. Besides, she wouldn’t charge near as much as a regular paper-hanger.”
“Humbug!” said Pinkie. “Give her what you’d give a man, if she does the work at all.”