not be able to talk the party over with Sara afterwards--and
that's half the fun gone."

"You can tell her all about it," comforted Felix.

"Telling isn't a bit like talking it over," retorted Cecily.
"It's too one-sided."

We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more
than others, but we all received enough to make us feel
comfortably that we were not unduly neglected in the matter. The
contents of the box which the Story Girl's father had sent her
from Paris made our eyes stick out. It was full of beautiful
things, among them another red silk dress--not the bright, flame-
hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, with the most
distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with it were little
red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that made Aunt
Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfully
that she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearing
red so much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that she
thought when you got so many things all at once you didn't
appreciate them as much as when you only got a few.

"I'd never get tired of red," said the Story Girl. "I just love
it--it's so rich and glowing. When I'm dressed in red I always
feel ever so much cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts
just crowd into my brain one after the other. Oh, you darling
dress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, glistening, silky thing!"

She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen.