“Carroll Atherton!” exclaimed his wife in dismay, “how could I ever look her father and mother in the face, and they’ve trusted her to us, while she went to school, to do the right thing by her. The idea of a sixteen-year-old girl, and a school-girl, going to a reception!”
“The child won’t have a chance to get there any other way,” observed Mr. Atherton. “One little social break won’t matter.”
“The worst place to make a social break is at Mrs. King’s,” said Mrs. Atherton. “No, Grace, you cannot go.” She set her lips tightly together. “Any other thing you might ask, I’d try to indulge you in; but I won’t make a faux pas at Mrs. Jasper King’s.”
“I don’t want anything else,” cried Grace in a passion. Just then a young girl ran over the steps, and plunged without ceremony into the pretty breakfast-room.
“Oh, joy—joy—joy!” she cried, beating her hands together, “mamma’s going to take me to Mrs. King’s reception to-morrow afternoon.”
“The idea of a school-girl going to a reception,” said aunt Fay.
“Bella Drysdale!” shrieked Grace, deserting her chair to throw her arms around her friend. “There, Uncle Carroll, now you see what Mrs. Drysdale’s going to do for Bella,” she flung over her shoulder, not deigning to notice her aunt.
“It’s too bad,” began Mr. Atherton.
“I shall see that lovely Mrs. King again,” cried Bella in a rapture. “Brother Tom’s going to get a look at Miss Phronsie; and we’ve got a cousin from Chicago, and he’s going for the express purpose of seeing her. Oh! everybody will be there, Grace. Mamma says you must go.”