"But I prefer not to go Cousin Bessie, I have not been out anywhere since—my father's death."
"Nonsense child! you are not going to mope away your young life like this," she broke in indignantly, "however, if you have any scruples, you can come away after dinner, before the active pleasures begin—there will be no one there in the afternoon but you and Zita. Surely you cannot object to that."
So it was settled, that we were to go to Mrs. Rutherby's, and the eventful afternoon came in due time. Zita was a little longer than usual before her looking-glass on that occasion, and was as pretty and fresh as a mountain daisy, when she came down at last to join me below.
We were received with gushing, girlish enthusiasm, by Pansy and Lulu Rutherby, in their rare and expensive toilets, they were both pretty and lively, and we talked and laughed during our first half-hour together, as though we had been old friends all our lives. Pansy and Lulu took poor Zita by storm, they showed their latest programmes of dances, and repeated for her benefit the newest compliments which had been paid to them by their respective admirers, since they had last entertained her.
Mrs. Rutherby and her senior guest, the mother of the younger lady, sat side by side on a remote sofa exchanging confidential whispers about their daughters. Miss Longfield, the Rutherby's "girl friend," and I, of necessity found ourselves thrown together, a little way from the rest. She was a tall, pale girl with a very high chignon, a very stiff satin dress, and very queer little shoes with very pronounced heels.
"You belong to Canada, I suppose?" she began looking at me speculatively from head to foot.
"Yes, I have always lived here," I answered, returning the speculative glance and concluding that Miss Longfield's complexion was decidedly sallow.
"Then you've been to Court, I guess?" she next asked.
"To Court," I exclaimed, raising my voice and my eyebrows.
"Why, yes" she retorted somewhat indignantly, "you've got Royalty over here, haven't you?"