ess, however, the two girls
descended from the absurd old carriage at the broad steps, and reached
the door, under the footmen's umbrellas, with every outward appearance
of well-bred _sang-froid_.

"I'm so glad you could come, Nancy. Alma, how lovely you look. Don't
you want to go upstairs and take off your wraps?" Elise Porterbridge,
a tall, fat girl, dressed in vivid green, greeted them; and, with all
the dexterity of a matronly hostess, passed them on into the chattering
mob of youths and girls which crowded the wide, brightly lighted hail.
Alma clutched Nancy's arm frantically as they squeezed their way
through to the stairs.

"Did you see a living soul that you knew besides Elise?" whispered Alma
as they slipped off their wraps into the hands of the little maid.
"Oh, it would be too awful to be a wall-flower after I've gone and
gotten these lovely slippers and everything."

"Don't be a goose. This is a good time--don't you know one when you
see it? Here, pinch your cheeks a little, and stop looking as if you
were going to have a chill. You're the prettiest girl here, and that
ought to give you some courage."

While Nancy poked her dress and tucked in a stray wisp of hair, Alma
stood eyeing the modish, self-assured young ladies who primped and
chattered before the long mirrors around them, with the round solemn
gaze of a hostile baby. How could they be so cool, so absolutely
self-contained?

"Come on,--you look all right," said Nancy aloud, and Alma marvelled at
the skill with which her sister imitated that very coolness and
indifference. If she had known it, Nancy was inwardly quaking with the
nervous dread that attacks every young girl at her first big party like
a violent stage fright.

They made their way slowly down the broad stairs, passing still more
pretty, chattering debonair girls who were calling laughing, friendly
greeting to the young men below.

From one of the other rooms a small orchestra throbbed beneath the hum
of voices; the scent of half a dozen French perfumes mingled and rose
on the hot air; and the brilliant colors of girls' dresses stirred and
wove in and out like the changing bits of glass in a kaleidoscope.

"Er--I say--good-evening, Miss Prescott. I got to you first, so I've a
right to the first dance." It was Frank Barrows, the hero of Alma's
potato adventure, who claimed Alma before her little silver foot had
reached the last step. A lean young man, with sleek, blond