Trousseau clothes? Leila's? Mary's needle pricked the air for a moment.
"They haven't set the day, you know, Aunt Frances; it will be a long engagement."
"I don't believe in long engagements," Aunt Frances' tone was final; "they are not wise. Barry ought to settle down."
Nobody answered. There was nothing to say, but Mary was oppressed by the grim humor of it all. Here was Aunt Frances bearing garments for the bride, while Gordon was planning to steal the bridegroom.
She stood up. "You better stay to lunch," she said; "it is Susan Jenks' hot roll day, and you know her rolls."
Aunt Frances peeled off her long gloves. "I hoped you'd ask us, we are so tired of hotel fare."
Grace laughed. "Mother is of old New York," she said, "and better for her are hot rolls and chops from her own kitchen range, than caviar and truffles from the hands of a hotel chef—in spite of all of our globe trotting, she hasn't caught the habit of meals with the mob."
Grace went down with Mary, and the two girls found Susan Jenks with the rolls all puffy and perfect in their pans.
"There's plenty of them," she said to Mary, "an' if the croquettes give out, you can fill up on rolls."
"Susan," Grace said, "when Mary gets married will you come and keep house for me?"