"The what?" asked Clover.

"The drawing-room," repeated Imogen.

"Oh, she means the parlor!" cried Katy. "No, we don't sit there except
when Aunt Izzie has company to tea. It is all dark and poky, you know.
Beside, it's so much pleasanter to be out-doors. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, sometimes," replied Imogen, doubtfully, "but I think it would be
pleasant to go in and sit there for a while, now. My head aches
dreadfully, being out here in this horrid sun."

Katy was at her wit's end to know what to do. They scarcely ever went
into the parlor, which Aunt Izzie regarded as a sort of sacred place.
She kept cotton petticoats over all the chairs for fear of dust, and
never opened the blinds for fear of flies. The idea of children with
dusty boots going in there to sit! On the other hand, Katy's natural
politeness made it hard to refuse a visitor anything she asked for. And
beside, it was dreadful to think that Imogen might go away and report
"Katy Carr isn't allowed to sit in the best room, even when she has
company!" With a quaking heart she led the way to the parlor. She dared
not open the blinds, so the room looked very dark. She could just see
Imogen's figure as she sat on the sofa, and Clover twirling uneasily
about on the piano-stool. All the time she kept listening to hear if
Aunt Izzie were not coming, and altogether the parlor was a dismal place
to her; not half so pleasant as the asparagus bower, where they felt
perfectly safe.

But Imogen, who, for the first time, seemed comfortable, began to talk.