"I'll bet Mr. Mostyn thought it was nice," Mrs. Drake was saying.
"Well, I certainly hope so," Miss Munson answered. "They say Atlanta men in his set are powerful good judges of women's wear."
Dolly had advanced straight to the mirror and stood looking at her reflection, a quizzical expression on her face.
"Hurry, unhook me!" she ordered, sharply. "Quick! I've got to run over to Barnett's cabin. Robby isn't any better. In fact, he is dangerous and Annie needs me."
The two women, eying each other inquiringly, edged up close to her, one on either side. "Dolly, what is the matter? I knew something was wrong the minute you come in the door."
"It is all right," Dolly said, in a low tone. "It is very sweet and pretty, Miss Stella, but I have decided not to—not to take it."
"Not take it!" The words came from two pairs of lips simultaneously. "Not take it!" The miracle happened again, in tones of double bewilderment.
"Well, I can't say I really expected you to," Miss Munson retorted, in frigid tones. "I only stopped by. To tell you the truth, I am on the way over to Peterkins'. Sally is the right size and will jump at it."
Dolly's lips were tight. Her eyes held a light, half of anger, half of an odd sort of doggedness.
"Please unhook me!" she said, coldly. "There is no time to lose. Annie is out of her head with trouble."