"Now, Eleanor," said Betty, "you come next."

Eleanor shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I tore mine up before I knew we
were to read them." She held up the crumpled ball of paper.

"Oh, you can smooth that out," said Betty, noticing Dora's
disappointment. "Here, give it to me."

Eleanor surrendered the paper in silence, and without glancing at the
contents Betty smoothed it out and passed it back.

"Now, Eleanor."

Eleanor looked around the table. Everybody was waiting. There was no
escape. Resolutely she pulled herself together and plunged in.

"You are the soul of truth and honor and generosity. You never think of
yourself, but are always trying to make other people happy. Your noble
nature is shown in your beautiful--" Eleanor's voice faltered and she
flushed painfully. "I can't go on," she said. "It's so--so--" She stopped
in utter confusion.

Dora had been listening with shining eyes. "Oh, please go on," she
begged. "That's the very one I wrote for you. I didn't plan it a bit, but
I hoped you'd get that one."

The matter might have been adjusted easily enough, if Beatrice, who was
sitting between Betty and Dora, had not turned to Betty with her oracular
smile, and murmured, "A keen sense of irony for one so young, isn't it?"
behind her hand.