"I followed as soon as some one told me that Miss Skeers had come up here,"
she said apologetically. "She is not always herself, poor thing. Once
she was quite distinguished as a local magazine writer, but...well, you
know...all people do not have the good fortune to have their genius
universally recognized, and the results are sometimes disastrous. We are
so proud to welcome you to-night, Miss Dwight, and--and--your charming
friends. I am Jane Upton Halsey." She appeared to think no further
explanation necessary.
"Oh, yes," murmured the bewildered Gora. "It was you who wrote to me."
"Exactly. I am chairman of the reception committee." She looked expectant,
then piqued, and added hastily: "Will you come downstairs? What lovely
gowns. I should like to paint you all."
She herself was a symphony in pink ("dago pink," whispered Aileen
wickedly), and she wore a small pink silk turban, apparently made from the
same bolt as the gown.
"Perhaps we should have worn hats," said Gora nervously. "I didn't know--I
thought..."
"You are just all right. Anything goes here. We wear what's becoming,
what we can afford, and what is our own idea of the right thing. Nobody
criticizes anybody else."
"Now, this is life!" said Alexina to Aileen. "You will admit we never found
anything like that before."
"Just you watch and catch them criticizing us....Rather effective--what?"
They were descending a staircase that led directly into the crowded room
below, and they looked down upon a mass of upturned expectant faces, Gora
was ahead with Miss Halsey, and as she reached the floor the faces
changed their angle; it was apparent that they were not interested in her
satellites.
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