VI

"Hello! Oh, good morning. Is that you, Teddy? Yes, you did wake me

up--but I'm very glad. Half past ten?--good gracious!--you never

telephone me before that?--Oh, what a whopper! You called me at half

past eight--day before yesterday--Why, of course--I know that--but you

did just the same. Why, yes, I'd love to. What time to-morrow? That will

be jolly; but do have the wind-shield--I hate to be blown out of the

car--no, it _isn't_ becoming--You're a goose!--besides, my hair tickles

my nose. No, I haven't had a word from mother, and I don't understand it

at all. She might have sent me a wireless. Yes, I'm awfully lonely--who

wouldn't miss her?--Well, now, you don't have a chance to miss me

much--Oh, really!--I'm dreadfully sorry for you!--poor old dear! Well, I

can't, positively, to-day--to-morrow, at three; and I'll be ready--yes,

_really_ ready. Good-by."

Dorothy hung up the receiver, yawned as daintily as a Persian kitten,

rubbed her eyes and rang the maid's bell. She smiled happily at the

golden sunlight that crept through the slit of the drawn pink curtains.

Another beautiful brand new day to play with, a day full of delightful,

adventurous surprises--a débutante's luncheon, a matinée, a thé dansant,

a dinner, too. Dorothy swung her little white feet from under the covers

and crinkled her toes delightedly ere she thrust them in the cozy satin

slippers that awaited them; a negligee to match, with little dangling

bunches of blue flower buds, she threw over her shoulders with a

delicate shiver, as the maid closed the window and admitted the full

light of day. Hopping on one foot by way of waking up exercises, she

crossed to the dressing-table, dabbed a brush at her touseled hair, then

concealed it under a fluffy boudoir cap. She paused to innocently admire

her reflection in the silver rimmed mirror, turning her head from side

to side, the better to observe the lace frills and twisted ribbons of

her coiffe. Breakfast arrived, steaming on its little white and chintz

tray, and Dorothy smacked hungry lips.

"Oo--oo--how perfectly lovely--crumpets! and scrambled eggs! I'm

starved!" She settled herself, eagerly cooing over the fragrant coffee.

"Now, if only Mother were here," she exclaimed. "It's so lonely

breakfasting without her!"

But her loneliness was not for long. An avalanche of Aunt Lydia entered

the room, quite filling it with her fluttering presence. Tante Lydia's

morning cap was quite as youthful as that of her niece, her flowered

wrapper as belaced and befurbelowed as the lingière could make it, and

her high heeled mules were at least two sizes too small, and slapped as

she walked.

"My dear," she bubbled girlishly, thrusting a stray lock of questionable

gold beneath her cap, "I thought I'd just run in and sit with you. I've

had my breakfast ages ago--indeed, yes--and seen the housekeeper, and

ordered everything. It was shockingly late when we got in last night, my

dear. I really hadn't a notion it was after three, till you came after

me into the conservatory. That _was_ a delightful affair last night, I

must say, even if Mrs. May _is_ so loud. She isn't stingy in the way she

entertains, like Mrs. Best's, where we were Wednesday. That was

positively a shabby business. Now, dear, what do we do to-day? I've just

looked over my calendar, and I want to see yours. Really, we are so

crowded that we've got to cut something out--we really have." As she

spoke she crossed to Dorothy's slim-legged, satin wood writing desk, and

picked up an engagement book. "You lunch with the Wootherspoons--that's

good. Then I can go to the Caldens for bridge in the afternoon at four.

You won't be back from the matinée and tea at the Van Vaughns' until

after six, and we dine at the Belmans' at eight. That'll do very nicely.

And then, dear, about my dress at Bendel's; I do wish you could find a

minute to see my fitting. I can't tell whether I ought to have that

mauve so near my face, or whether it ought to be pink; and you know that

fitter doesn't care _how_ I look, just so she gets that gown _of_ her

hands, and I _can't_ make up my mind--when I can't see myself at a

distance _from_ myself, and those fitting rooms are _so_ small!"

Dorothy paused in the midst of a bite. "Tante Lydia, you _know_ if she

said 'mauve' you'd want 'pink' and 'mauve' if she said 'pink,' and all

you really need is somebody to argue with; and, besides, they both look

the same at night."

Mrs. Mellows pouted fat pink lips, and looked more than ever an elderly

infant about to burst into tears.

"Dorothy," she sniffed, "I do think you are the most trying child! I

only wish to look well for _your_ sake. I have no vanity--why should I

have? It's only my desire to be presentable on your account." Her blue

orbs suffused with tears.

Dorothy leaped from the divan, to the imminent danger of the breakfast

tray. "Now, Aunt Lydia, don't be foolish. I didn't mean to hurt your

feelings, and, besides, you know you are the really, truly belle of the

ball. Why, you bad thing! Where were you all last evening? Didn't I have

to go after you--and into the conservatory, at that! And what did I

find, pray--you and a beautiful white-haired beau, with a goatee! And

now you say you are _only_ dressing for _me_--Oh, fie!--oh, fie!--oh,

fie!" She kissed her aunt on a moist blue eye, and bounced back to her

seat.

The chaperon was mollified and flattered. "But, my dear," she returned

to the charge, "you know mauve is so unbecoming; if one should become a

trifle pale--"

Dorothy snipped a bit of toast in her aunt's direction. "But, why, my

dear Lydia," she teased, "should one ever be pale? There are first aids

to beauty, you know--and a very _nice_ rouge can be had--"

"Dorothy, how can you!" exclaimed the lady, overcome with horror.

"Rouge! What _are_ you saying, and what _are_ young girls coming to! At

your age, I'd never heard the word, no, indeed. And, besides, my love,

it is indecorous of you to address me as 'Lydia.' I am your mother's

sister, remember."

Her charge giggled joyously. "Nobody would believe it, never in the

world! You aren't one day older than I am, not a day. If you were, you

wouldn't care whether it was mauve or pink--nor flirt in the

conservatories."

"You're teasing me!" was Mrs. Mellows' belated exclamation. "And, my

dear, I don't think it _quite_ nice, really."

The insistent call of the telephone arrested the conversation. Dorothy

took up the receiver, and Aunt Lydia became all attention.

"Hello!--Oh, it's you again--I thought I rang off--Oh, really--no, I'm

not!"

"Who is it?" questioned Aunt Lydia in a sibilant whisper.

Dorothy went on talking, carefully refraining from any mention of names.

"Yes--did you?--that's awfully kind--yes, I love violets; no, they

haven't come, by messenger--how extravagant! No, I'm not going out

_just_ yet--not in this get up. What color? Pink--_and_ a lace cap--a

duck of a lace cap. Send the photographs around--Oh, _that's_ all right;

Aunt Lydia is here--aren't you, Aunt Lydia?--Oh, oh--what a horrid

word!--unsay it at once! All right, you're forgiven. I'm busy _all_

day--_all, all_ day--yes, and this evening. No, orchids won't go with my

gown to-night--don't be silly--of course, gardenias go with everything,

but--now, what nonsense!--I'm going to hang up--Indeed, I _will_.

Good-b--what? Now, listen to me--"

A tap at the door, and Aunt Lydia, hypnotized as she was by the

telephone conversation, had presence of mind enough to open the door and

receive a square box tied with purple ribbon. She dexterously untied the

loose bow knot, and withdrew from its tissue wrappings, a fragrant

bouquet of violets. An envelope enclosing a card fell to the floor. With

suppleness hardly to be expected from one of her years, she stooped to

pick it up, and in a twinkling had the donor's name before her.

Dorothy hung up the receiver and turned. "So you know who sent the

flowers, and who was on the 'phone," she laughed. "Tante, you should

have been a detective--you really should."

"How can you!" almost wept Mrs. Mellows. "I only opened it to save you

the trouble. Of course, I knew all along that it was Teddy Mahr--I

guessed--why not? Really, Dorothy, you misinterpret my interest in you,

really, you do."

Dorothy laughed. "Now, now," she scolded, "don't say that. Here, I'll

divide with you." She separated the fragrant bunch into its components

of smaller bunches, snipped the purple ribbon in two, and neatly devised

two corsage adornments. "Here," she bubbled, "one for you and one for

me--and don't say such mean things about me any more. If you do, I'll

tell Mother about all your flirtations the minute she gets back--I will,

too!"

"That reminds me, my dear," said Mrs. Mellows, her apple-pink face

becoming suddenly serious, "I don't understand why we haven't had any

news from your mother, really, I don't. She might have sent us just a

wireless or something."

"It _is_ odd." Dorothy's laugh broke off midway in a silvery chuckle.

"But something may have gone wrong with the telegraphic apparatus, you

know. We might get the company, and find out if any other messages have

been received from her."

"I never thought of that," exclaimed Mrs. Mellows. "You are quick

witted, Dorothy, I will say that for you. Suppose you do find out."

Dorothy turned to the telephone and made her inquiry. "There," she said

at length, "I guessed it--no messages at all; they are sure it's out of

order. Well, that does relieve one's mind. It isn't because she's ill,

or anything like that. Now, Aunt Lydia, that's _my_ mail."

"Why, child!" the mature Cupid protested, "_I_ wasn't going to open your

letters. Indeed, I think you are positively insulting to me! Here,

that's from your cousin Euphemia, I know her hand; and that's just a

circular, I'm sure--and Tappe's bill. My dear, you've been perfectly

foolish about hats this winter. This is a handwriting I don't know, but

it's smart stationery--and, dear me, look at all these little cards. I

really don't see how the postman bothers to see that they're all

delivered; they're such little slippery things--more teas--and bridge."

"And how about yours?" questioned Dorothy, amused. "What did you get?"