g Sir Albert Driscoll at her
Newport house this summer. Quite a feather in her cap, ain't it?"

Priscilla replied with a gasp that she supposed it was, and looked
appealingly at Peggy. Peggy's responsive attempt to bring the
conversation back to normal levels, proved quite unsuccessful. Rosetta
Muriel was determined to impress her new acquaintances with her
knowledge of customs of the Four Hundred, and indeed it was evident that
she had studied the society columns of the New York papers, with an
industry worthy a better cause. Peggy at length grew desperate.

"As long as it's Fourth of July, wouldn't it be nice to sing some
patriotic songs? You can play 'America,' can't you, Jerry?"

"Well, I guess," said Jerry, with unfeigned relief, and he struck a
resounding chord. After Rosetta Muriel, and the atmosphere of tawdry
pretense surrounding her, it was a relief to every one to launch into
the splendid words,

"My country, 'tis of thee."

Amy, who did not know one tune from another, sang at the top of her
voice. Aunt Abigail hummed the air in a cracked soprano, with traces of
bygone sweetness. Priscilla's silvery notes soared flute-like above the
others, and even Rosetta Muriel joined after a brief hesitation,
probably due to her uncertainty as to whether this was customary in the
best society, on the occasion of a formal call.

"That went splendidly," declared Peggy, her face aglow, when the last
verse had filled the room with melody. "Now, what about 'The Star
Spangled Banner?' Can you play that, Jerry? It's a lot harder than the
other."

"You bet it's harder, but I can play it all right." Jerry instantly
proved his boast by striking the introductory chords, winding up with an
ambitious flourish. "Now," he said, with a nod, and the chorus burst out
lustily, Priscilla's voice leading.

"O, say, can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming."

The chorus, strong on the first line, weakened on the second. Priscilla
sang through the third alone, and then came to a full stop. Jerry
drummed a few further chords, and broke off to demand, "What's the
matter?"

"Why, I've forgotten just how that goes," cried Priscilla. "What is the
next, anyway?"

After a protracted struggle, in which each girl racked her memory and
contributed such fragments as she could recall, four lines were patched
into comparative completeness. But, beyond this, their allied effort