“Not as yet,” came the answer with a laugh. “But be careful, she is near——”
Molly moved away hastily, her face crimson.
Jessie had heard the question also and recognized the voice of Judith Blount.
“Why, Molly,” she exclaimed, glancing at her face, “you don’t think they meant——”
“Yes,” said Molly, trying to smile naturally, “I do.”
She glanced down at her home-made dress. Perhaps it did look amateurish. She and Nance had worked very hard over it, but, after all, they were not experienced dressmakers.
“Why, you look perfectly charming,” went on Jessie generously. “The color is exactly right for you——”
“Yes, color,” answered Molly, “but there ought to be something besides color to a dress, you know. Never mind, I shouldn’t be such a sensitive plant, Jessie. One ought not to mind being called fantastic. It’s not nearly so bad as being called—well, malicious—cruel. I’d rather be fantastic than any of those things. But I did think the dress was pretty when we made it.”
“Come along, and let’s get some lemonade, Molly. Your dress is sweet and suits you exactly, so there.”
Then someone came up and claimed Jessie for the next dance, but Molly was grateful to the pretty butterfly creature for her assurances and she resolved to forget all about her dress. As she lingered in the corner, uncertain whether to stay where she was or join her friends in the gallery, Mary Stewart made her way through the crowd and called: