e dinner, and--He's used to it, you know, and if we
haven't one, he'll go back to Cleveland and say, 'Ah, bah Jove, I had to
hang up my own hat, don't you know?'"

"That's supposed to be English, but I don't believe it. Anyhow, it isn't
Cleveland," said Connie flatly.

"Well, he'd think we were awfully cheap and hard up, and Andy Hedges,
Senior, would pity father, and maybe send him ten dollars, and--no,
we've got to have a maid!"

"We might get Mamie Sickey," suggested Lark.

"She's so ugly."

"Or Fay Greer," interposed Aunt Grace.

"She'd spill the soup."

"Then there's nobody but Ada Lone," decided Connie.

"She hasn't anything fit to wear," objected Carol.

"Of whom were you thinking, Carol?" asked her aunt, moving uneasily in
her chair.

Carol flung herself at her aunt's knees. "Me!" she cried.

"As usual?" Connie ejaculated dryly.

"Oh, Carol," wailed Lark, "we can't think of things to talk about when
you aren't there to keep us stirred up."

"I'm beginning to see daylight," said Connie. She looked speculatively
at Lark. "Well, it's not half bad, Carol, and I apologize."

"Don't you think it is a glorious idea, Connie?" cried Carol
rapturously.

"Yes, I think it is."

Carol caught her sister's hand. Here was an ally worth having. "You know
how sensible Connie is, auntie. She sees how utterly preposterous it
would be to think of entertaining a millionaire's son without a maid."

"You're too pretty," protested Lark. "He'd try to kiss you."

"'Oh, no, sir, oh, please, sir,'" simpered Carol, with an adorable
curtesy, "'you'd better wait for the ladies, sir.'"

"Oh, Carol, I think you're awful," said their aunt unhappily. "I know
your father won't like it."

"Like it? He'll love it. Won't he, Connie?"

"Well, I'm not sure he'll be crazy about it, but it'll be all over when
he gets home," said Connie.

"And you're very much in favor of it, aren't you, Connie precious?"

"Yes, I am." Connie looked at Lark critically again. "We must get Lark
some bright flowers to wear with the silver dress--sweet peas would be
good. But I won't pay for them, and you can put that down right now."

"But what's the idea?" mourned Lark. "What's the sense in it? Father
said to be good to him, and you know I can't think of things to say to a
millionaire's son. Oh, Carol, don't be so mean."

"You must practise up. You must be girlish, and light-hearted, and
ingenuous, you know. That'll be very effective."

"You