"Just one more second, papa." She shook her head, lamenting. "Oh, I wish we'd rented some silver!"
"Why?"
"Because so much of the plating has rubbed off a lot of it. Just a second, papa." And as she spoke she hastily went round the table, gathering the knives and forks and spoons that she thought had their plating best preserved, and exchanging them for more damaged pieces at Russell's place. "There!" she sighed, finally. "Now I'll come." But at the door she paused to look back dubiously, over her shoulder.
"What's the matter now?"
"The roses. I believe after all I shouldn't have tried that vine effect; I ought to have kept them in water, in the vase. It's so hot, they already begin to look a little wilted, out on the dry tablecloth like that. I believe I'll———"
"Why, look here, Alice!" he remonstrated, as she seemed disposed to turn back. "Everything'll burn up on the stove if you keep on———"
"Oh, well," she said, "the vase was terribly ugly; I can't do any better. We'll go in." But with her hand on the door-knob she paused. "No, papa.
