“Oh, Paula must have a plain white tablecloth here that we can use,” Amy said.
“I’ll take a look,” Peggy said. “I hate to see a bare table, unless there are place mats, and we don’t even have enough napkins to use as mats. Where do you suppose she’d keep her tablecloths?”
Looking around the room, Amy pointed to a low chest with three shallow drawers that stood near the kitchenette door. “If I had any cloths I’d keep them in there,” she said.
Peggy opened the top drawer. “No tablecloths,” she said, “but we’re on the right track. There are bed linens and some towels in here.” She went to the second drawer. There were no linens here, but simply a large, flat, leather box of highly polished calfskin. It took up most of the drawer. Peggy was about to shut the drawer when something caught her attention. She gave a low whistle.
“Amy, come here,” she said.
“Tablecloths?” Amy said.
“Look.” Peggy pointed to a small silver plate fixed to the lower right-hand corner of the leather box. It was engraved: “For Paula’s first part—and her future career. With love from Mother and Dad.”
“I guess you were right, Peggy,” Amy said. “About the shoes, and Paula not being a salesgirl, and not being poor....”
“And not being an orphan, either,” Peggy added.