"Then think it over," besought the other woman eagerly. "Think that Carol will marry, and that Clarence--" Her ardent tone dropped suddenly. There was a moment's pause. Then she added dryly, "How do, dear?"
"How do, Tante Firenze!" said Carol, who had come abruptly into the room. "How are the girls? Say, listen! Is Isabelle going to the Bowditches'?"
"I don't even know that Charlotte is going," Mrs. Haviland said, with an auntly smile of baffling sweetness that yet contained a subtle reproof. "Uncle Gardner and I haven't made up our minds. Isabelle in any case would only go to look on, so she is not so much interested, but poor Charlotte is simply on tenterhooks to know whether it's to be yes or no. Girls' first parties"--her indulgent smile included Rachael--"dear me, how important they seem!"
"I should think you'd have to answer Mrs. Bowditch," said Carol in plain disgust at this maternal vacillation.
"Mrs. Bowditch is fortunately an old enough friend, dear, to waive the usual formalities," her aunt answered sweetly.
"But, my gracious--Charlotte's two months older than I am, and she won't know any of the men!" Carol protested.
"Don't speak in that precocious way, Bill," Rachael said sharply. "You went to your first dances last winter!"
Carol gave her stepmother a look conspicuously devoid of affection, and turned to adjust her smart little hat with the aid of a narrow mirror hanging between the glass dining-room doors.
"You couldn't drop me at the club, on your way to church, Tante?" she presently inquired. And to Rachael she added, with youthful impatience, "I told Dad where I was going!"
Mrs. Haviland rose somewhat heavily.