He had failed to note the trunks. This was not
strange, for Camellia had a beautiful face, and her manner was, as
always, charming.
"I don't see," said the Philosopher in my ear, at a moment when Camellia
was occupied with the Skeptic and the Gay Lady, "what there is about
that to upset you all."
"Don't you?" said I pityingly. Evidently, from what he had heard us say,
he had expected her to arrive in an elaborate reception gown--or
possibly in spangles and lace!
Camellia went to her room--the white room. This time I had no fears for
the embroidered linen on my dressing-table or for the purity of my white
wall. I repaired to my own room--_to dress for dinner_. As I passed the
porch door on my way I looked out. The Gay Lady had vanished--so had the
Skeptic. The Philosopher was walking up and down--in white ducks. He
hailed me as I passed.
"See here," he said under his breath. "I thought you people were all
guying in that talk about dressing for dinner while--while Miss Camellia
is here. But the Skeptic has gone to do it--if he's not bluffing.
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