e, and
she came to school one day in such a palpable though indifferently made
copy of Agnes Clifford's fashionable dress of Saxe blue gabardine, that
some of the girls openly giggled in the cloakroom, an offence for which
she never really forgave them. After three weeks of worshipping at
Lesbia's shrine Regina one morning blurted out an invitation. In her
characteristic fashion she gave it without any preamble. She simply said
abruptly:

"Can you come to tea on Saturday?"

And Lesbia, suppressing a gasp of surprise, replied:

"Oh, thanks very much! I shall have to ask my cousin, Mrs. Patterson,
first."

Lesbia was very keen upon tennis at present. To go with Kitty and Joan
to play at their club was her weekly treat. She did not know whether she
wanted to waste a whole precious Saturday afternoon upon Regina, whom
she saw every day at school. I am afraid tennis would have overbalanced
friendship in the scales had she not remembered that on Saturday next
was a tournament, and she would certainly have no opportunity of
playing.

"It's just possible that the Websters may have a court," she ruminated.
"I'll chance it, anyway."

She therefore asked and obtained permission for the outing from Mrs.
Patterson, who was quite gracious and pleasant about it. She had been
far more genial with Lesbia lately. The storm over her visit to
Pilgrims' Inn Chambers seemed to have cleared the air.

"So you're going to tea with the Blessed Damozel," giggled Ermie, for
the news leaked out somehow in VA. "Well, I suppose you'll have a sort
of royal reception--flags put up in your honour, family band playing, an
illuminated address presented, and all the rest of it. The younger
brothers--if there _are_ any younger brothers and sisters--will be
practising court curtsies and hand kissing. Hope you'll rise to the
occasion and receive it with proper dignity. Give us a specimen of your
best regal manners, O Queen! Just to show us how it's done."

"Don't mock. I believe you're jealous."

"Oh yes, of course we're all jealous, aren't we, Marjorie? We want to be
worshipped too, and have somebody 'Less than the Dust' grovelling at our
feet. We'd get up a turn or two among ourselves, only we can't decide
who's to grovel. Everyone wants to be the goddess and not the devotee.
That's where we don't hit it. Is it Saturday afternoon that the royal
reception is to take place? How touching! Some press representatives
ought to be there for the sake of