"A tea room and a circulating library," Margery said unnecessarily, for the card had told her as much as that.
"Why do you say: 'Conducted by six girls'?" demanded the little lady.
"There are six of us," said Happie, coming to Margery's aid at a glance from her. "But, to be truthful, the youngest is only a silent partner."
"Are you the proprietors?" cried this first visitor.
"We, with another girl my age and my little sister to help us," said Happie with pardonable pride.
"Ridiculous! I don't want tea now, but I shall want it later. I live near here. I will come in again at noon and see what absurd tea you have. Are you poor? You look like ladies," said this candid person.
"That is our only fortune," replied Happie demurely. Margery was too annoyed to speak, but Happie's sense of humor made this form of impertinence seem to her merely amusing.
A shadow darkened the doorway, and before the first visitor could carry on her catechising further Mrs. Scollard's old friend, Mrs. Charleford, the "Auntie Cam" who had taken Margery away with her to Bar Harbor the previous summer, came into the room, followed by her daughter Edith, Elsie Barker, and Eleanor Vernon, Happie's three best friends, whom she had not seen since April had taken her away from New York into the mountains.
The girls rushed upon Happie and nearly devoured her. "Oh, I am so glad!" "Oh, Happie, we have missed you so!" "Oh, you funny, darling old Happie, if this isn't the queerest scheme, and just like you!" they cried in a trio.
The first visitor stalked out. "I shall return for my tea," she said in going.