descend to that sort of nonsense.

"Here we are!" Harriet rather drily interrupted the flood. Nina
gave a startled glance at the lawns and gardens of the Jay mansion
already dotted with awnings and chairs, and sprinkled with the
bright gowns of the first arrivals. They were early, and their
hostess, a handsome, heavily built woman with corsets like
armourplate under her exquisite gown, and a blonde bang covering
her forehead, came forward with her daughter to meet them.
Francesca was as slight as a willow, with a demurely drooped
little head and a honeyed little self-possessed manner.

"Very decent of you, Miss Field!" breathed Mrs. Jay, in a voice
like that of a horn. "You girls run along now--people will be
comin' at any minute. I'm going to take Miss Field to the table.
Three hundred people comin'," she confided as Harriet followed her
across the lawn, and to the rather quiet corner of the awninged
porch where the tea table stood, "and Mist' Jay just sent me a
message that he won't be here until six. My older daughter,
Morgan, is stayin' with the Tom Underbills--you know their place--
lovely people--Well, now, I'll leave you here, and you just ask
for anything you need--"

The matron melted away; Harriet looked after her broad, retreating
back indifferently. Everyone knew Mrs. Jay, a harmless, generous,
good-natured and hospitable target for much secret criticism and
laughter. The odd thing was, old Mrs. Carter had sometimes pointed
out to the dutifully listening Harriet, that the woman really came
of an excellent family, so that her little affectations, her
fondness for the phrases "my older daughter, Morgan," and "lovely