Her arms were so heavy she could scarcely lift
them to her head, and her head itself seemed to have jagged weights
rolling inside at her slightest movement. She didn't feel up to
experimenting with the new coiffure d'la Lady Sylvia Southwoode;
even the exertion of putting up her hair the usual way made her
uncomfortably conscious of the blackberry cobbler. She wasn't yet
dressed when Mr. Briggs called for her. Mother came in to help.
"Sure you feel all right?" she enquired solicitously.
"Oh, yes--fine!" said Missy.
She was glad, on the rather long walk to the Bonners', that Mr.
Briggs was so easy to talk to--which meant that Mr. Briggs did most
of the talking. Even at that it was hard to concentrate on his
conversation sufficiently to make the right answers in the
occasional lulls.
And things grew harder, much harder, during the first dance. The
guests danced through the big double parlours and out the side door
on to the big, deep porch. It was inspiringly beautiful out there on
the porch: the sweet odour of honeysuckle and wistaria and "mock
orange" all commingled; and the lights shining yellow out of the
windows, and the paler, glistening light of the moon spreading its
fairy whiteness everywhere.
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