The day went rushing past. Enticing odours arose from the kitchen.
The grocery wagon came, and came again. The girls went home. A
sketchy lunch was eaten off the kitchen table, and father stayed
down town. The girls reappeared. They overran the kitchen, peeling
oranges and pineapples and bananas for "heavenly hash." Marguerite
grew cross. The Baby, who missed his nap, grew cross. And Missy, for
some reason, grew sort of cross, too; she resented the other girls'
unrestrainable hilarity. They wouldn't be so hilarious if it were
their own households they were setting topsy-turvy; if they had
sixteen "place-cards" yet to finish. In England, the hostess's
entertainments went more smoothly. Things were better arranged
there.
Gradually the girls drifted home to dress; the house grew quiet.
Missy's head was aching. Flushed and paint-daubed, she bent over the
"place-cards."
Mother came to the door.
"Hadn't you better be getting dressed, dear?--it's half-past five."
Half-past five! Heavens! Missy bent more feverishly over the "place-
cards"; there were still two left to colour.
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