But when the next day went by, with no more flowers, and nothing aparently wrong except that mother was very dignafied with me, I began to feel better. Sis was out all day, and in the afternoon Jane called me up.
“How are you?” she said.
“Oh, I’m all right.”
“Everything smooth?”
“Well, smooth enough.”
“Oh, Bab,” she said. “I’m just crazy about it. All the girls are.”
“I knew they were crazy about something.”
“You poor thing, no wonder you are bitter,” she said. “Somebody’s coming. I’ll have to ring off. But don’t you give in, Bab. Not an inch. Marry your Heart’s Desire, no matter who butts in.”
Well, you can see how it was. Even then I could have told father and mother, and got out of it somehow. But all the girls knew about it, and there was nothing to do but go on.
All that day every time I thought of the Party my heart missed a beat. But as I would not lie and say that I was ill—I am naturaly truthful, as far as possible—I was compelled to go, although my heart was breaking.