She tossed down
her pen as her sister entered, and, taking up a blotter, carefully
laid it across the page she had been writing.
"Thank heaven, I don't have to go to that supper party," Barbara
announced, throwing herself full length on the lounge.
"So father gave it up," commented Helen. "I am glad."
"Gave up nothing," retorted her sister. "He and Margaret Brewster
are going."
"What!" Helen was on her feet. "You let them go out alone together?"
"They can't be alone if they are together," answered Barbara
practically. "Don't be silly, Helen."
Helen did not answer at once; she had grown singularly pale. Walking
over to the window she glanced into the street. "The car hasn't
come," she exclaimed, and consulted her wrist watch. "Hurry, Babs,
you have just, time to dress and go with them."
"B-b-but I said I wouldn't go," stuttered Barbara, completely taken
by surprise.
"No matter; tell father you have changed your mind." Helen held out
her hand. "Come, to please me," and there was a world of wistful
appeal in her hazel eyes which Barbara was unable to resist.
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