“Ninety-one.”
“She might have given you the amethysts before. You, of course, will wear them; and I—am going to borrow the corals!”
Jane Carew gasped.
“You do not object, do you, dear? I have a new dinner-gown which clamors for corals, and my bank-account is strained, and I could buy none equal to those of yours, anyway.”
“Oh, I do not object,” said Jane Carew; still she looked aghast.
Viola Longstreet shrieked with laughter. “Oh, I know. You think the corals too young for me. You have not worn them since you left off dotted muslin. My dear, you insisted upon growing old—I insisted upon remaining young. I had two new dotted muslins last summer. As for corals, I would wear them in the face of an opposing army! Do not judge me by yourself, dear. You laid hold of Age and held him, although you had your complexion and your shape and hair. As for me, I had my complexion and kept it. I also had my hair and kept it. My shape has been a struggle, but it was worth while. I, my dear, have held Youth so tight that he has almost choked to death, but held him I have. You cannot deny it. Look at me, Jane Carew, and tell me if, judging by my looks, you can reasonably state that I have no longer the right to wear corals.”
Jane Carew looked. She smiled the Carew smile. “You DO look very young, Viola,” said Jane, “but you are not.”
“Jane Carew,” said Viola, “I am young. May I wear your corals at my dinner to-morrow night?”
“Why, of course, if you think—”
“If I think them suitable. My dear, if there were on this earth ornaments more suitable to extreme youth than corals, I would borrow them if you owned them, but, failing that, the corals will answer. Wait until you see me in that taupe dinner-gown and the corals!”