She bounded from bed to her dressing room, dropping Philip a courtesy in return for his previous jest. "I will come forth full grown," she promised. "Your friend the editor shall never suspect that I still love dolls."
She kept her word and after dinner, when she stood with Philip on the veranda of the hotel, she had exchanged the way of a child for one of womanly charm. The day was glorious, and already Gay Lewis and the Tilton-Joneses were on hand. A moment later the host of the afternoon led his party to the waiting car. The three ladies occupied the tonneau, while Tilton-Jones and Philip faced them. The New York publisher sat in front with the chauffeur. At the outset Gay Lewis announced her satisfaction. "Nothing could be as fine as this!" she declared. "A Pierce Arrow is next to flying. Of course, for some time to come I shall not be permitted to shoot upward, but if it were not for mother I should accept my first invitation."
"Could you really dare to board an airship?" Mrs. Tilton-Jones put in.
"Certainly," said Gay. "I dare say I was born only for sport; I love it better than anything else in the world. I never think of danger when I am amusing myself."
"I am sorry that we cannot enjoy the afternoon according to latest ideals," the host answered. "However, I must depend upon Miss Lewis to direct our course. Which way shall we take?" he asked.
They had already started on a trip through the little city.
"I am greatly flattered," Gay replied. "But really, I have no choice when I am in a machine. It is just go, go, go, with me. I can almost arrive at Kipling's meter as I sit! sit! sit! bobbing up and down again." Every one laughed.
"And you don't mind a rough road?" Mrs. Tilton-Jones demanded with literal surprise.
"Not as much as most people," Miss Lewis answered. "I, for one, shall not complain this afternoon. I never felt a more comfortable car."
"It moves along perfectly," said Isabel, who had thus far been quiet.