outward show of spontaneous gayety and recklessness.
Such was the Carmelita of the last memorable night of the society Charity Fête upon Rao-Singh's lawn.
Cheeks flushed with excitement and a peach-colored evening gown accentuating the beauty of her body and a head-dress of jewel-studded metal cloth setting off the perfect oval of her dark Spanish loveliness, she stood chatting gayly in a circle of her friends who were resting temporarily from their excursions into the mulling crowds. Lucy and the others had taken little interest in the Fête when it was first planned and Carmelita was first trying to enlist their enthusiasm. "Charity is such a beastly bore when such a noise is made about it," Lucy had commented. "Why cannot Mrs. Peabody and her well-born ladies give their money to the wounded soldiers without asking us all to give up perfectly good evenings to mixing around with a lot of dusty, staring village people? It's so much simpler." But in the end they had decided that it really promised fun and they had in the past few days come out strongly in support of the Fair. They now confined their knocking to good-natured gibes at Carmelita as a member of the managing committee.
"Your jazz band is petering out, Carmelita,"
