We were received with gushing, girlish enthusiasm, by Pansy and Lulu
Rutherby, in their rare and expensive toilets, they were both pretty
and lively, and we talked and laughed during our first half-hour
together, as though we had been old friends all our lives. Pansy and
Lulu took poor Zita by storm, they showed their latest programmes of
dances, and repeated for her benefit the newest compliments which had
been paid to them by their respective admirers, since they had last
entertained her.
Mrs. Rutherby and her senior guest, the mother of the younger lady,
sat side by side on a remote sofa exchanging confidential whispers
about their daughters. Miss Longfield, the Rutherby's "girl friend,"
and I, of necessity found ourselves thrown together, a little way from
the rest. She was a tall, pale girl with a very high _chignon_, a very
stiff satin dress, and very queer little shoes with very pronounced
heels.
"You belong to Canada, I suppose?" she began looking at me
speculatively from head to foot.
"Yes, I have always lived here," I answered, returning the speculative
glance and concluding that Miss Longfield's complexion was decidedly
sallow.
"Then you've been to Court, I guess?" she next asked.
"To Court," I exclaimed, raising my voice and my eyebrows.
"Why, yes" she retorted somewhat indignantly, "you've got Royalty over
here, haven't you?"
"Oh! now I understand," said I with a covert smile, "you mean, have I
been presented to Her Royal Highness?"
She nodded her _chignon_ affirmatively with a satisfied air, and began
biting her under lip, which operation, however, was immediately
interrupted by an expressive--"It must be awfully nice.
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