rippling locks to wander wantonly across her forehead.

"Missy! It's ten minutes to six! And you haven't even combed your
hair!" It was mother at the door again.

The first guest arrived before Missy had got her hair "smoothed up"-
-no time, tonight, to try any rippling, wanton effects. She could
hear the swelling sound of voices and laughter in the distance--oh,
dreadful! Her fingers became all thumbs as she sought to get into
the dotted swiss, upside down.

Mother came in just in time to extricate her, and buttoned the dress
with maddeningly deliberate fingers.

"Now, don't fret yourself into a headache, dear," she said in a
voice meant to be soothing. "The party won't run away--just let
yourself relax."

Relax!

The musicians, out on the side porch, were already beginning their
blaring preparations when the hostess, at last, ran down the stairs
and into the front parlour. Her agitation had no chance to subside
before they must file out to the dining room. Missy hadn't had time
before to view the completely embellished dining room and, now, in
all its glory and grandeur, it struck her full force: the potted
palms screening the windows through which floated strains of music,
streamers of blue and gold stretching from the chandelier to the
four corners of the room in a sort of canopy, the long white table
with its flowers and gleaming silver--