But when Ella got home, the next morning, she reopened the question with some heat.  Emily could do exactly as Emily pleased, declared Ella, but Susan Brown should and would come to the last Browning.

“Oh, please, Duchess—!” Susan besought her.

“Very well, Sue, if you don’t, I’ll make that kid so sorry she ever--”

“Oh, please!—­And beside—­” said Susan, “I haven’t anything to wear!  So that does settle it!” ’

“What were you going to wear?” demanded Ella, scowling.

“Em said she’d lend me her white lace.”

“Well, that’s all right!  Gerda’ll fix it for you—­”

“But Emily sent it back to Madame Leonard yesterday afternoon.  She wanted the sash changed,” Susan hastily explained.

“Well, she’s got other gowns,” Ella said, with a dangerous glint in her eyes.  “What about that thing with the Persian embroidery?  What about the net one she wore to Isabel’s?”

“The net one’s really gone to pieces, Duchess.  It was a flimsy sort of thing, anyway.  And the Persian one she’s only had on twice.  When we were talking about it Monday she said she’d rather I didn’t—­”

“Oh, she did?  D’ye hear that, Mama?” Ella asked, holding herself in check.  “And what about the chiffon?”

“Well, Ella, she telephoned Madame this morning not to hurry with that, because she wasn’t going to the dance.”

“Was she going to wear it?”

“Well, no.  But she telephoned Madame just the same—­I don’t know why she did,” Susan smiled.  “But what’s the difference?” she ended cheerfully.

“Quite a Flora McFlimsey!” said Mrs. Saunders, with her nervous, shrill little laugh, adding eagerly to the now thoroughly aroused Ella.  “You know Baby doesn’t really go about much, Totty; she hasn’t as many gowns as you, dear!”

“Now, look here, Mama,” Ella said, levelly, “if we can manage to get Susan something to wear, well and good; but—­if that rotten, selfish, nasty kid has really spoiled this whole thing, she’ll be sorry!  That’s all.  I’d try to get a dress in town, if it wasn’t so late!  As it is I’ll telephone Madame about the Persian—­”

“Oh, honestly, I couldn’t!  If Emily didn’t want me to!” Susan began, scarlet-cheeked.

“I think you’re all in a conspiracy to drive me crazy!” Ella said angrily.  “Emily shall ask you just as nicely as she knows how, to wear—­”

“Totty, she’s sick!” pleaded Emily’s mother.

“Sick!  She’s chock-full of poison because she never knows when to stop eating,” said Kenneth, with fraternal gallantry.  He returned to his own thoughts, presently adding, “Why don’t you borrow a dress from Isabel?”

“Isabel?” Ella considered it, brightened.  “Isabel Wallace,” she said, in sudden approval.  “That’s exactly what I’ll do!” And she swept magnificently to the little telephone niche near the dining-room door.  “Isabel,” said she, a moment later, “this is Mike—­”