By all means, I'll
attend to it. I'll give the order to Lefferan; he handles the most
exclusive designs."
"That's what we want," said Mr. Sequin, rising; "the most exclusive
and the most expensive. Our credit is good for a few months yet. Have
the small car at the bank at 6:30. I will not be home for dinner."
Mrs. Sequin sighed as he slammed the front door. There was no use
denying the fact that men were trying, even the best of them. Hadn't
Cousin John Queerington, that paragon of perfection, toppled on his
pedestal at the smile of an unsophisticated little country girl? And
there was Basil, recognized as a veritable wizard of finance, waiting
until the new house was almost completed, then getting panicky about
the cost. And now Donald, whom she thought safely anchored on the
other side of the world, threatening to come home at the most
inopportune time and create no end of trouble!
"Excuse me, madam," said the butler, "but she says she ain't going to
wait another minute."
"Jenkins!" Mrs. Sequin raised her brows disapprovingly. "Send that
odious woman up to Miss Margery's room; I will see her there."
The room above the dining-room was one of those pink-and-white jumbles
that convention prescribes for debutantes.
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