She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carrying pink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voice there was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. She paused on the steps, a lovely figure.
But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby.
"Oh, hullo," said he. "No. I came to see your father."
He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunched about his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth and brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her without a glance.
She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughed loudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it.
"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----"
"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole school knows it."
Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. He entered upon a pretty scene.
His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the child Monona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea of making the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her blue hose, her bracelet, her ring.
"Oh, and mamma," she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supper and the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----"