"Now quit that," says I. "I got my fingers crossed."
"'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfully early. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'm going to take your arm."
She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the porte cochère. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of a little group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showy entrance.
And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh, only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, the imitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You should have seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minute or so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin' puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feel my face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'.
"Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the wrong one!"
At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid.
"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!"
"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch.
"But—but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for another inspection. "How you have—er—grown up! Why, your mother never told me a word!"
"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn't seen me for nearly two days, and—well, I suppose she will fuss, as usual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly glorious visit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport. Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me.