Mrs. Scollard turned quickly and threw her arms around her girl with a movement entirely girlish. "You dear Happie!" she cried. "I knew you wouldn't, and I know why! You should have done precisely as you chose, my darling, but I really think that Margery ought to go, and needs the pleasure more than you. Margery is drifting in young ladyhood, while Happie, I am thankful to say, is unadulterated girlishness still."
"Of course she's the one to go, motherums; she's ever so much lonelier here than I am," said Happie staunchly. "You see when I flew up so rapturously, I hadn't had time for second thought."
"Proverbially the best," supplemented her mother. "I am very glad that you reconsidered, Happie, but I'd like you to understand that I see clearly through your transparent little self, and realize what you are doing for Margery."
Happie blushed and turned away. "Oh, I want to stay," she said lightly.
"Of course you do," assented her mother. "There are many different ways of wanting a thing, my Hapsie. But I'll tell you in strictest confidence that I am selfishly glad that I am to keep you. I don't see really, how we could have borne up if Auntie Cam had carried off the Ark's sunshine."
Happie turned back to give her mother an emphatic and hasty kiss before she escaped; she was still perilously near to tears. Her mother's words had robbed her sacrifice of all sting, as Mrs. Scollard knew that they would, for Happie dearly loved to be a comfort.
Margery received the decision that Happie was to stay and she to go with a solemn rapture, too deep for words. The next few days were given up to hurried preparations for her departure. The invitation had come on Wednesday, and Mrs. Charleford, whom the young Scollards had known all their lives as Auntie Cam, had arranged that her guest was to come to her on Monday.
It was short notice and rapid work; the Ark was submerged in the waters of confusion. Still, as Rosie Gruber sensibly observed: "There wasn't no use in worrying. What Margery had she had, and what she hadn't she hadn't, so what good did it do to git all dragged out fussin' over things yet?"
That good and efficient person ironed at night and arose an hour earlier than her four o'clock routine to lend her useful hands to preparing Margery's wardrobe.
"Fortunately you are still a young girl, dearie," said her mother folding the soft mull which Rosie had pressed. "You are still in the class which the fashion catalogues call: Misses. In another year you will be old enough to require more if you go into the great world, but simplicity is fitting and fairest for a young girl. This is your last year of slipping into the throng unheralded, Margery; make the most of its advantages, dearie. I really think you are sufficiently provided, without being obliged to add: 'Considering.' Your last year's gowns are so refreshed that I am satisfied with your little wardrobe, at least for this season, while you are still little Margery."