expected guest, although she hardly acknowledged the meeting with the
unadulterated cordiality as the other party to it, for Mrs. Cherry had
been born cordial. But no one, least of all Mrs. Cherry herself, would
have gathered from Elinor's manner that plans for a formal luncheon had
been a trifle upset. She explained that she was having a few friends of
her own to lunch and that she believed that it might be pleasanter for
the children to have theirs separately. Grown folks and their
conversation were very tiring to children. Mrs. Cherry agreed with all
of this.

But Elinor also was of the opinion that the Cherry family had best
lunch en masse, with Arethusa, and so adroitly did she manage this part
of the affair that Mrs. Cherry ever afterwards firmly believed it was
she, herself, who had suggested that she join Helen Louise and Peter
and the younger hostess, rather than Elinor's older guests.

The division of luncheon guests which Arethusa headed was safely
garnered in the breakfast room with only a narrow margin of time to
spare before Elinor's division arrived.

Mrs. Cherry was treated there to a collation that so long as she lived
remained distinctive, with a white-capped maid in a black dress and
much befrilled apron to serve it in courses just as the other luncheon
was served. She ate from egg-shell china, and drank from glasses, so
crystal clear and thin, that they long stood to Mrs. Cherry as a
synonym for perfection.

"It's as purty as them glasses of Mis' Worth'ton's," was her final word
of praise.

And Helen Louise and Peter ate and ate and ate, until their hostess
began to be anxious and wondered where they were putting it all.

Then George smuggled in the Victrola, and behind carefully closed doors
Arethusa gave a Concert which endeared her to a music-loving Helen
Louise forever, as the brightest memory of her life. Clay took them
home in the automobile, with a little ride through the Park beforehand,
so that the Cherrys' cup of bliss was almost too full. Arethusa went
with them, but when she had come back, it was much too late to join
that Real Party of Elinor's.

Miss Eliza would not have considered Elinor's method of dealing with
Arethusa any sort of punishment for such a performance as she had been
guilty of this day, but Elinor knew only too well what a real
punishment it was.

It was a most subdued Arethusa who came down to the dinner-table that
evening, although very eager to know all the