Garlands of pink roses
festooned the paper, tied at intervals by enormous pink bows. Pink
bows and ruffles smothered the dresser and sewing table, and pink and
white cushions filled the window seat. Cotillion favors, old dance
cards, theater programs, were pinned to the heavy pink and white
curtains that shut out the sunlight. Among the lace pillows of the
brass bed lay a languid, pale-faced girl, who stared up at the rose-
entwined ceiling, as a prisoner might stare at her bars.
"Close the door, Myrtella," Mrs. Sequin said as they entered. "I am
mortally afraid of drafts. Good morning, Margery. Where is your blue
hat? I told Miss Lady to send up for it, because I am going to take
her to the Bartrums' this afternoon and I simply could not have her
appear in that ridiculous little hat she wears all the time."
The girl in the bed turned a fretful face toward her mother:
"Why, Miss Lady promised to spend the afternoon with me. I've been
looking forward to it for days."
"Yes, I know, dear, but I told her you weren't quite so well, and that
she could come to-morrow. You see, she really can't afford to miss the
Bartrums' tea; it's the first entertainment this fall and everybody
will be there.
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