Scarcely had they gone when in rushed the General and my prim duenna, Mrs.
Whitney; they'd been waiting until the coast was clear. It was with
something like a scream that the two flew at me, crying in one voice:--
"Have you _really_ refused to be one of Peggy's bridesmaids? Why
didn't you consult _me_?"
Peggy despairs of Mr. Poultney; she's going to marry some person in
Standard Oil, and her wedding will be a function.
"Yes," I said, ignoring the latter question.
"But why--_why_--" Mrs. Whitney squeaked and panted, and her breath
failed.
"Because--was it because Ann Fredericks was asked too?" Meg demanded.
"Yes, if you must know."
"But what has Ann done?" said Meg. She planted herself in front of me, her
hard, handsome eyes blazing with impatience. "She's as homely as the
Sunset Cox statue and as uncivil to you as she dares; but she's only a
cousin of _the_ Frederickses, you mustn't mind her. What has Ann
done, Helen?"
"She weighs two hundred and they call her 'Baby'! She's a fat slug on a
currant bush! I won't talk about her."
I dashed into my room but Meg's staccato reached me even there.
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