"Would you mind if I just looked on?"
"But why?"
"It seems so soon—to be gay—"
"Of course. I should have thought of it." She touched her niece's cheek with the tip of her finger. "They are all quite mad about you, Hildegarde."
Hildegarde would not have been human if such flattery had not thrilled her. But she managed to say, "It's my gown, and your good taste."
"Nonsense. You're different—and Elizabeth's daughter.
"Did any of them know her?"
"Yes. Neale Winslow—the one with the white hair. He admired your mother immensely. But she did not like him."
"And I don't." Hildegarde was emphatic.
Miss Anne was tolerant. "He's not so bad. He is very rich, and he has been a great help to Louis. It is his egotism that antagonizes women—I feel it. But in spite of it we are friends."
She left her niece then, and a little later Hildegarde went upstairs. She felt she would not be missed if she slipped away quietly and did not say "good-night."
Sally, dancing with Meriweather, saw Hildegarde go. "Well, the Madonna has fled," she said with her cheek against his shoulder.
"The Madonna?"
"The new daughter. Merry, I hope I'm a good sport, and I shan't be a cat and say things about her. But I'm sorry she came."
"I thought you liked her."
"I do. She's precious. But that's it. You think so, too."
