Susan didn’t like it, the “waive all formality” showed her exactly how Mrs. Fox regarded the matter.  Her pride was instantly touched.  But she longed desperately to go.  A sudden thought of the politely interested Thorny decided her.

“Oh, thank you!  Thank you, Mr. Coleman,” she smiled, “but I can’t, to-night.  Miss Thornton and I are just—­”

“Don’t decline on my account, Miss Brown,” said Thorny, mincingly, “for I have an engagement this evening, and I have to go straight home—­”

“No, don’t decline on any account!” Peter said masterfully, “and don’t tell wicked lies, or you’ll get your mouth washed out with soap!  Now, I’ll put Miss Thornton on her car, and you talk to Hart here—­Miss Brown, this is Mr. Hart—­Gordon, Miss Brown—­until I come back!”

He disappeared with Thorny, and Susan, half terrified, half delighted, talked to Mr. Hart at quite a desperate rate, as the whole party got on the dummy of a car.  Just as they started, Peter Coleman joined them, and during the trip downtown Susan kept both young men laughing, and was her gayest, happiest self.

The Palace Hotel, grimy and dull in a light rainfall, was nevertheless the most enchanting place in the world to go for tea, as Susan knew by instinct, or hearsay, or tradition, and as all these other young people had proved a hundred times.  A covered arcade from the street led through a row of small, bright shops into the very center of the hotel, where there was an enormous court called the “Palm-garden,” walled by eight rising tiers of windows, and roofed, far above, with glass.  At one side of this was the little waiting-room called the “Turkish Room,” full of Oriental inlay and draperies, and embroideries of daggers and crescents.

To Susan the place was enchanting beyond words.  The coming and going of strange people, the arriving carriages with their slipping horses, the luggage plastered with labels, the little shops,—­so full of delightful, unnecessary things, candy and glace fruits, and orchids and exquisite Chinese embroideries, and postal cards, and theater tickets, and oranges, and paper-covered novels, and alligator pears!  The very sight of these things aroused in her heart a longing that was as keen as pain.  Oh, to push her way, somehow, into the world, to have a right to enjoy these things, to be a part of this brilliant, moving show, to play her part in this wonderful game!

Mrs. Fox led the girls of her party to the Turkish Room to-night, where, with much laughter and chatter, they busied themselves with small combs, mirrors powder boxes, hairpins and veils.  One girl, a Miss Emily Saunders, even loosened her long, thin, silky hair, and let it fall about her shoulders, and another took off her collar while she rubbed and powdered her face.

Susan sat rather stiffly on a small, uncomfortable wooden chair, entirely ignored, and utterly miserable.  She smiled, as she looked pleasantly from one face to another, but her heart was sick within her.  No one spoke to her, or seemed to realize that she was in the room.  A steady stream of talk—­such gay, confidential talk!—­went on.