“Everything?”
“Everything that could happen at the Hancocks’ dances.”
Her mother shook her head at her. She knew that in secret Mamma was glad; but she answered the reproof.
“It’s mean of me to say that when I’ve eaten four of their ices. They were strawberry, and chocolate and vanilla, all in one.”
“Well, they won’t last much longer.”
“Not at that rate,” her father said.
“I meant the dances,” said her mother.
And sure enough, soon after Connie’s engagement to young Mr. Pennefather, they ceased.
And the three friends, Connie and Sarah and Lizzie, came and went. She loved them; and yet when they were there they broke something, something secret and precious between her and her father and mother, and when they were gone she felt the stir, the happy movement of coming together again, drawing in close, close, after the break.
“We only want each other.” Nobody else really mattered, not even Priscilla Heaven.