"If we don't go home, Prudy, I'll have to go right to bed. I don't feel like sitting up."
"Then I must ask Mrs. Pragoff where we are to sleep."
And next minute Prudy was half way down stairs, thinking,—
"What's gone wrong? I never can find out by asking her. She don't think or care how impolite she is, and how hard she makes it for me."
It was a very brilliant party, composed of some of the most refined and accomplished little people in the city of New York. Such fine dresses and such die-away manners overawed Prudy. She did wish her mamma had sent a thin summer dress in the trunk. It was dreadful to have to wear woollen, high-necked and long-sleeved. It cost her a great effort to cross the room. She felt as awkward as a limping grasshopper in a crowd of butterflies. But reaching her hostess at last, she timidly whispered,—
"My sister says she isn't very well, Mrs. Pragoff, and that's why she stays up stairs. If you please, perhaps she'd better go to bed."
Prudy was very much ashamed to say this; but politeness required her to make some excuse for wayward Dotty's behavior.
Of course Mrs. Pragoff went up stairs at once. At the sound of her steps, and the words, "You poor, forlorn little dear," Dotty came out of the curtain, looking as miserable as could be desired.
"I am so sorry, darling! I wished you to become acquainted with these nice little gentlemen and ladies."
"But I—I—it hurts me to talk, ma'am."