“We all eat too much in this house!” she said aloud, cheerfully.  “And we don’t exercise enough!” Emily did not answer, merely smiled, as at a joke.  The subject of diet was not popular with either of the Misses Saunders.  Emily never admitted that her physical miseries had anything to do with her stomach; and Ella, whose bedroom scales exasperated her afresh every time she got on them, while making dolorous allusions to her own size whenever it pleased her to do so, never allowed anyone else the privilege.  But even with her healthy appetite, and splendid constitution, Susan was unable to eat as both the sisters did.  Every other day she resolved sternly to diet, and frequently at night she could not sleep for indigestion; but the Saunders home was no atmosphere for Spartan resolutions, and every meal-time saw Susan’s courage defeated afresh.  She could have remained away from the table with far less effort than was required, when a delicious dish was placed before her, to send it away untouched.  There were four regular meals daily in the Saunders home; the girls usually added a fifth when they went down to the pantries to forage before going to bed; and tempting little dishes of candy and candied fruits were set unobtrusively on card-tables, on desks, on the piano where the girls were amusing themselves with the songs of the day.

It was a comfortable, care-free life they led, irresponsible beyond any of Susan’s wildest dreams.  She and Emily lounged about their bright, warm apartments, these winter mornings, until nine o’clock, lingered over their breakfast—­talking, talking and talking, until the dining-room clock struck a silvery, sweet eleven; and perhaps drifted into Miss Ella’s room for more talk, or amused themselves with Chow Yew’s pidgin English, while he filled vases in one of the pantries.  At twelve o’clock they went up to dress for the one o’clock luncheon, an elaborate meal at which Mrs. Saunders plaintively commented on the sauce Bechamel, Ella reviled the cook, and Kenneth, if he was present, drank a great deal of some charged water from a siphon, or perhaps made Lizzie or Carrie nearly leap out of their skins by a sudden, terrifying inquiry why Miss Brown hadn’t been served to salad before he was, or perhaps growled at Emily a question as to what the girls had been talking about all night long.

After luncheon, if Kenneth did not want the new motor-car, which was supposed to be his particular affectation, the girls used it, giggling in the tonneau at the immobility of Flornoy, the French chauffeur; otherwise they drove behind the bays, and stopped at some lovely home, standing back from the road behind a sweep of drive, and an avenue of shady trees, for tea.  Susan could take her part in the tea-time gossip now, could add her surmises and comment to the general gossip, and knew what the society weeklies meant when they used initials, or alluded to a “certain prominent debutante recently returned from an Eastern school.”