As Dotty lay tossing on her bed, she heard the laughing, and the lively music of the piano, and began to find she had missed a great deal by not going down stairs.
Horace and Prudy were getting a taste of fashionable society. True, Prudy did tire of the fixed questions, "How do you like New York? Have you been in the Park?" asked by girls in pink, and girls in blue, and boys in wondrous neck-ties, with hair parted very near the middle. She was astonished when Mrs. Pragoff proposed games. How could such exquisite children play without tearing their flounces and deranging their criêped hair? But games were a relief to Prudy. When she was playing she forgot her thick winter dress, and appeared like herself.
"I don't believe Dotty can get to sleep in all this noise. Here's a nice chance to slip out, and I'll run up and see."
She was not quite sure of the room, but the words, "Is that you, Prudy?" in an aggrieved voice, showed her the way.
"How do you feel, darling?"
"Feel? How'd you feel going to bed right after dinner?"
"But you said you were sick."
"Well, yes; my—windpipe; but that's done aching. I can talk now. You get my clothes, and I'll dress and go down stairs."
"Why, Dotty, I've excused you to Mrs. Pragoff, and it wouldn't be polite to go now."
"Why not? Mother went down once with her head tied up in vinegar. Besides, it shakes me all over to hear such a noise. And it's not polite to stay away when the party's some of it for me."