carved for her. They had ships on them, ships with wind-filled sails.
When Hildegarde thanked him, Crispin said: "They are our ships. We shall reach harbor together. No storms can stop us."
And Hildegarde, thrilling to the romance of the thought, flushed and sparkled. "What a voyage that would be, Crispin!"
After the presents had been distributed, everybody motored to the country club. Hildegarde danced several dances and went home at midnight with her father and Mrs. Hulburt and Crispin. Sally begged to be left with Meriweather to finish the night out.
"There are plenty of mothers staying," she told her own. "I'll be more than chaperoned."
"I suppose I shouldn't have left her," Mrs. Hulburt apologized on the way home. "But I must have my beauty sleep, Louis."
And so it happened that Sally and Meriweather danced until morning, and had bacon and scrambled eggs at dawn, in the club grill, with other revelers. And Sally set the doll, Sarah, in the center of the table.
"She is really my subconscious self," she informed her friends. "You see only the surface—the Sally Hulburt that I let you see. But underneath I want to wear caps and part my hair and warm my toes at the fire."
They roared at that—Sally, with her impertinences, and revealing franknesses. Sally, with her copper-colored bob, and her lip-stick.
