“That light green certainly is becoming. It makes you look like an apple-blossom.”
“You lucky things! Wish we were going! Here’s the machine now, and Miss Wallace is calling.”
They went down-stairs, the house following.
“Oh, Miss Wallace, take your coat off and let us see! Oh, please do!”
The obliging Miss Wallace complied. She really was charming in old blue, with half-blown, pale pink roses, Priscilla’s gift, at her waist.
“Oh, Miss Wallace, you look just like a girl!”
“You’re just beautiful, Miss Wallace!”
“No one will think you’re a chaperon.”
“They’ll all want to dance with you, Miss Wallace.”
“Oh, girls, you’ll quite spoil me,” said the chaperon, and looked more charming than ever. “Come, girls. Priscilla, do raise your coat collar. I’m afraid you’ve caught cold. Jean, I insist, put on that scarf. Take care of the house, girls. Miss Baxter’s out. But I know you will. Good-night.”