“An afternoon at The Laurels,” echoed Mabel.
“And so am I—that's the best of the fun,” said Stephanotie; “and I mean to give her something to remember me by.”
“Whom do you mean?” said Rose.
“Why, my good, respected hostess, Mrs. Hartrick.”
“What do you mean to give her?” asked Rose.
“This. How do you like it? It's full of bon-bons.”
Rose, notwithstanding her virtuous and commonplace mind, had a secret leaning toward bon-bons. She did not dare to confess it even to Mabel; for Mabel also had a secret leaning, and did not dare to confess it to Rose. It was not comme il faut in their family for the girls of the house to indulge in bon-bons; but still, they would have liked some of those delicious sweets, and had often envied Stephanotie when she was showing them to her companions.
Of course, not for worlds would they have been friendly with the terrible American girl; but they did envy her her boxes of sweets.
“How gay!” said Rose, looking at the startling cover, with its cupids and its greedy-looking maiden.
“How jolly,” said the American girl—“how luscious when you're eating them! Would you like to see them inside?”