Carmella Commands
“Could you come tomorrow?” asked Mrs. Barrington, adding: “If your mother is willing.”
“School’s tomorrow.”
“Of course! How careless of me! There wouldn’t be time. Then can you come Saturday?”
“I’ll ask mother.”
“Then let’s drive around and ask mother now.”
Mrs. Barrington had had the happiest inspiration of her social career. She knew that Carmella was in a dubious mood. For a moment, she was friendly. Driving around to the yellow cottage to ask mother would clinch the matter. Long years afterwards, when Carmella Coletta was a figure in the world, she thought back to this moment and patterned her conduct by it. At the time, the keenness of it escaped her. Her mind was on real estate deals, anyway.
Mrs. Barrington started toward the door with Carmella. Her sedan was waiting outside, and the welltrained Dixon showed no slight trace of surprise as his employer came out with the Italian girl of Doty Street.
Doty Street was having thrills. Two days ago, a splendid touring car, with two prosperous-looking men, had stopped at the Coletta cottage. Today, a heavy sedan, with uniformed chauffeur, stopped at the same yellow gate. And each time Carmella, Tommaso’s kid, had emerged in state.
Mrs. Alibrio, next door, regretted that she had refused to lend her patent egg-beater to Maria when
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