“The 21st of June.”
“Well, he's early enough with his invitation,” she grumbled.
“Yes, he is,” said Cynthia; and she laughed for shame and pleasure as she confessed, “I was thinking he was rather late.”
She hung her head and turned her face away. But Mrs. Durgin understood. “You be'n expectin' it all along, then.”
“I guess so.”
“I presume,” said the elder woman, “that he's talked to you about it. He never tells me much. I don't see why you should want to go. What's it like?”
“Oh, I don't know. But it's the day the graduating class have to themselves, and all their friends come.”
“Well, I don't know why anybody should want to go,” said Mrs. Durgin. “I sha'n't. Tell him he won't want to own me when he sees me. What am I goin' to wear, I should like to know? What you goin' to wear, Cynthy?”