“Please hand me my fountain pen and a pad, Mark,” Mrs. Moulton answered Mary indirectly. “We’ll make out our list this instant.”
For an hour they worked on this task, Mr. Moulton and Win throwing in suggestions which Mark saw were absurd, although he did not know any of the people discussed, because the elder and the younger man twinkled at each other in making them, Mary laughed at them, and Mrs. Moulton passed them over with dignified contempt.
“That is seventy-five names, Mrs. Moulton,” Mary announced, adding up the three pages of the pad. “Some of these people won’t come, but most of them will. Isn’t that a large party? Jane and I counted up a third of those in the first place.”
“Either you must make it small, keep it within the circle which the Garden family has always moved among, or else you must include every one set down here,” said Mrs. Moulton. “Since you are to do this, Mary, I advise making it what the Old Campaigner, in the Newcomes, called ‘an omnium gatherum.’”
“With a caterer?” asked Mary.
“No. With cakes ordered from Mrs. Mills and ice cream and thin homemade sandwiches and your own coffee, tea, and chocolate. Abbie and Anne can manage it. I’ll lend you Violet; she is unsurpassed in cooking; her coffee is indescribable. But you know that. And you know she is like all of her race, ready to do anything for any one she likes, though quite unreconcilable to those whom she does not fancy. And you know she calls you: ‘Dem Gyarden blossums!’ Vineclad would be inclined to resent a caterer. What are you three to wear?” Mrs. Moulton ended with a look of suspicion at Mary.
Mary proved that the suspicion was just by the dismay that overspread her face. Then she laughed.
“Never thought of it; not once!” she cried. “But we have something that will do. A white dress is best, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know as to that, but you have not ‘something that will do!’” said Mrs. Moulton firmly. “You are to send for something perfectly new, and perfectly suitable. You must live up to the gown that appeared at the earl’s majority celebration. White for you, demure Mary, but I think pale sea green for Jane, and rose colour for Florimel. I shall write to New York in the morning to have gowns sent up on approval; I have an account at Oldfellow’s. I intend to see that you are properly apparelled for this introductory festivity.”
“Althea, I am not sure that I shall approve your teaching Mary to be vain,” interposed Mr. Moulton.