When, a few minutes later, Mrs. Lennox went away, Ida accompanied her to the gate, and stood there after the carriage had disappeared from view. She stared straight before her, a little frown on her smooth white brow. She was trying to make up her mind to do something which her conscience, that infallible monitor, told her was both mean and unkind. She started and colored when Cynthia's voice fell suddenly on her ear.
"I thought you were never coming in, Ida," she said. "What did Mrs. Lennox want?"
"She wanted to invite me to a garden party," answered Ida, without looking at her sister. "But of course I can't go. I have nothing fit to wear."
"Not go!" exclaimed Cynthia. "Oh, Ida, you must! It will be perfectly delightful. She gave one last year, and had a band of music, fireworks, refreshments served in tents, colored lanterns on the trees, and everything else you can imagine. She told me all about it herself, when she called one day soon after to see Aunt Patty, and she promised that if she ever gave another I should be invited. I suppose, however, she forgot it, or perhaps she thinks I'm too young. Anyhow, I'm glad she asked you."
"Yes; it was very nice of her," rejoined Ida, in a stiff tone. "But I really have nothing suitable for such an occasion, and I am sure you have no party dress, Cynthia."
"No; but if she had invited me I could have worn my pink organdie."
"That faded, forlorn thing!"
"Well, what would it matter? No one would pay any attention to me at such a place. I would enjoy myself just looking on. But I wasn't invited, so there is no use talking about it," and she turned around and walked back to the house, a look of disappointment on her face.
Ida leaned over the gate again.