Between that day at the beach and the day set for the first session to the house party, Cara all but backed out several times. It was rather absurd, to ask five girls to week-end at her lovely big home, the Billows, to bring clothes enough for three days and to stay for almost that length of time, when they all lived near enough to run home if their mothers should call them—on the telephone.
But from the time that Cara mentioned the brilliant idea to Louise and Esther, she was not allowed to change her mind. There is not a great deal of excitement for girls of their ages at little sea-coast towns, and the prospects of a house party were far too precious to relinquish.
Mrs. Burke, Cara’s mother, was rather pleased that her athletic daughter thought of anything so socially refining, for, as a rule, Cara cared very little for the amenities. She liked, very much better, to row their boat on the lake that always seemed to envy the wild little wavelets that flew about the ocean’s edge, or she might stay on the golf links all day with her dad, who believed in golf for girls as well as for boys, and there was only Dudley at Burke’s to share honors with his sister Cara.
So now that the day of the party was actually at hand, Cara felt like “laughing her head off,” as she described her unusual emotions.
“If it wasn’t that I just made this chance to get acquainted with Barbara Hale, Moma,” (she always called her mother Moma because it means soft, in Celtic,) “I would be apt to think myself silly. But it’s worth while to meet Barbara.”
“Why is she so difficult and desirable?” asked Mrs. Burke, who might be Moma or “soft” to her daughter, but as a woman seemed quite the opposite. She was capable of formality, fine, dignified yet lovely with just that charm that all mothers should possess.
“Well,” replied Cara to her question, as she settled a final bunch of snap-dragons on the long davenport table in the living-room, “to tell you the truth, Moma, she’s a bit mysterious.”
“A girl—mysterious; how?”
“Oh, in a lot of ways. I couldn’t just tell you, darling, but they’re plenty. Wait until you meet her,” she promised archly. “I’m sure you will call her perfect; I believe all the grown-ups do. She’s said to be so sensible.”
“Not too sensible, I hope,” qualified Mrs. Burke, who liked girls to be girls and not Minervas.