Wilkins looked blank, and Hazel laughed. "Oh, we 'll make it up with some cut glass, I 'll manage it. I want the table to look cool and simple, just to-night."
Cool and simple. Wilkins failed to comprehend it, but such was his faith in "little Missy," that he carried out her orders to the letter, and the result was, according to Mrs. Fenlick, "a dream of beauty."
When she had made her preparations to her entire satisfaction, as well as Wilkins's, and the latter had called Minna-Lu from her culinary tug-of-war to witness "little Missy's" triumph, Hazel ran into the library.
Her father looked at her in amazement. Could this radiant, young girl be the same Hazel of a year ago? They had gone directly to North Carolina when Hazel had left Mount Hunger, and had been at home but two days. This little dinner was given to Mr. Clyde's intimate friends as an informal celebration and recognition of his daughter's return to the New York house.
Now, as she ran into the room and linked her arm in his, her father looked down upon her with such evident pride and love, that Hazel laughed joyfully, kid her cheek against his coat-sleeve and patted his hand.
"Do I look nice, Papa Clyde?"
"Nice! that's no word for it, Birdie." And thereupon he took her in his arms and gave her such a hug and a kiss, that the pretty dress must have suffered if it had not been made of the softest of white China-silk.
"Oh, my flowers! you 'll crush them!" she cried, shielding with both hands a bunch of flowers at her belt.
"Where did you get all this--this style, daughter mine? It's--why, you 're nothing but a little girl, but it's 'chic.'"
Hazel enjoyed her father's admiration to the full. She drew herself up, straight and tall, graceful and slender--her head was already above his shoulder--exclaiming:--