“Orchids,” says Sappy.  “Grandmother has dandy ones at her place up in Westchester, and I can make there and back in my roadster if I’m not pinched for speeding.  I’m going to have a try, and maybe I’ll have to steal the flowers too.”

“There!” says Eulalia, pattin’ him on the back.  “That’s a knightly spirit.  But what of Crimson Crest?  What will you do?”

“The game is to spring something on Miss Vee better’n what the others put over, is it?” says I.

“Precisely,” says Eulalia, allowin’ two of the young gents to help her on with her wraps.  “Have you thought what your offering is to be?”

“Not yet,” says I.  “I may take a chance on something fresh.”

They was all pilin’ out eager by that time, each one anxious to get started on his own special fool stunt, so, while I was mixed up in the gen’ral push, with my hat in my hand and my coat over my arm, it didn’t strike me how I could bolt the programme until I’m half crowded behind the open hall door.  Then I gets a swift thought.  Seein’ I wouldn’t be missed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out of sight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when she fin’ly shuts the door, there I am.

“Why, Torchy!” says she.  “I thought you had gone.”

“But it wa’n’t a wish, was it?” says I.

“Humph!” says she, flashin’ a teasin’ glance.  “Suppose I don’t tell that?”

“My nerve is strong today,” says I, chuckin’ my hat back on the rack; “so I’ll take the benefit of the doubt.”

“But all the others have gone to—­to do things that will please me,” she adds.

“That’s why I’m takin’ a chance,” says I, “that if I stick around I might—­well, I’m shy of grandmothers to steal orchids from, anyway.”

Vee chuckles at that.  “Isn’t Cousin Eulalia too absurd?” says she.  “And since you’re still here—­why—­well, let’s not stand in the hall.  Come in.”

“One minute,” says I.  “Where’s Aunty?”

“Out,” says she.

“What a pity!” says I, takin’ Vee by the arm.  “Tell her how much I missed her.”

“But how did you happen to come up today?” asks Vee.

“There wa’n’t any happenin’ to it,” says I.  “I’d got to my limit, that’s all.  Honest, Vee, I just had to come.  I’d have come if there’d been forty Aunties, each armed with a spiked club.  It’s been months, you know, since I’ve had a look at you.”

“Yes, I know,” says she, gazin’ at the rug.  “You—­you’ve grown, haven’t you?”

“Think so?” says I.  “Maybe it’s the cut-away coat.”

“No,” says she; “although that helps.  But as we walked in I thought you seemed taller than I. Let’s measure, here by the pier glass.  Now, back to back.  Well, if I ever!  Look where your shoulders come!”

“No more than an inch or so,” says I, gazin’ sideways at the mirror; and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy “Gee!”