A Book o' Nine Tales Part 22

_F._ I'll never tell. What was it?

_A._ You know that tailor-made gown she wears? The one made of gray corduroy? Well, Clarence Key asked her if she got it so her husband could have it made into riding trousers, after she was done with it.

Did you ever _hear_ such impertinence?

_F._ He didn't really!

_A._ He really did!

_F._ Why, Alice! I should think she'd have killed him. I would.

_A._ So would I.

_F._ (_putting her hand on the handle of the door_) Well, good-bye. Give my love to Blanche when you write.

_A._ Yes, I will.

_F._ I shall see you to-morrow?

_A._ Yes. Good-bye.

[_f.a.n.n.y opens the door, and a blast of cold wind rushes in._]

_F._ Ugh! How awfully cold it is. I wish I had taken the carriage.

_A._ I went over to Ethel Mott's this morning, and I thought I should freeze to _death_.

_F._ I hope I sha'n't get pneumonia or anything. I want to go to the Claytons' ball.

_A._ Oh, do tell me; what are you going to wear?

_F._ (_returning and closing the door_) There, that is one thing I wanted to ask you about. I want you to go in white, and I'll wear that black lace I had made in New York last winter. I've never worn it here at all, and that's the most stylish gown I ever had in my whole life.

_A._ Wouldn't that be striking? We could go in together. I'll have a new white tulle, and wear my pearls. I'll make Aunt Alicia lend me hers, too.

_F._ That will be _too_ lovely.

_A._ And you'll wear diamonds?

_F._ Oh, no. I wore jet in New York. Not a single thing but black about me; not even my fan-sticks.

_A._ How _per_-fectly enchanting!

_F._ Will you do it?

_A._ Of course I will. I'll buy the stuff to-morrow.

_F._ We'll talk about it when you come to-morrow. (_Opening the door._) I must go this very moment, or I shall _never_ get to Mrs. Fresco's.

_A._ What are you going to wear to-night?

_F._ That cardinal I showed you the other day.

_A._ Isn't that rather gorgeous?

_F._ Oh, it's going to be a big dinner, you know; and there's lots of black lace on it.

_A._ It must be awfully becoming.

_F._ It is. If Jack knows anything, he ought to see a difference between that and orange plumes.

_A._ Ethel Mott told me-- Oh, do come in a moment. I'm simply freezing to death, and I must tell you this.

_F._ (_once more coming in and closing the door_) Well, do be quick. I ought to have been home long ago.

_A._ Oh, you've lots of time.

_F._ But it takes so long to do my hair.

_A._ How are you going to wear it?

_F._ The same old way. I wish somebody'd invent some new style,--something real nice and becoming. I asked Uncle Calvin the other night if he hadn't seen some pretty styles in China, and I wish you could have _seen_ the pictures he brought out!

_A._ What were they like?

_F._ Like? They weren't like anything. Why, I just _gasped_ over them!

s.h.i.+ps, and b.u.t.terflies, and all sorts of things; all made out of hair, right on your own head.

_A._ Not really?

_F._ Yes, just as I tell you. I never _saw_ anything so frightful.

_A._ It must have been perfectly ghastly!

_F._ Well, good-bye. Come early. Oh! what were you going to tell me?

_A._ To tell you?

_F._ Yes,--that Ethel Mott said.

_A._ Oh, she said that Kate West has been corresponding all winter with that West Point cadet she met at Newport last summer.

_F._ No!

_A._ Yes!

_F._ Why, Alice Langley, do you mean it?

_A._ Ethel said she knew it.