Isabelle grinned silently in horrible embarrassment but Charlotte said, quick-wittedly: 

“How is your mother, Kenneth, and Dorothy?”

“She’s well—­they’re well, thank you.  They’re here somewhere—­at least Mother is.  I think Dorothy’s still over at the Clays’, playing tennis!”

He laughed violently at this admission, and Charlotte laughed, too.

“It’s lovely weather for tennis,” she said encouragingly.  “We—­”

“You—­” Mr. Moran began.  “I beg your pardon!”

“No, I interrupted you!”

“No, that was my fault.  I was only going to say that we ought to have a game some morning.  Going to have your courts in order this year?”

“Yes, indeed,” Charlotte said, with what was great vivacity for her.  “Papa has had them all rolled; some men came down from town—­ we had it all sodded, you know, last year.”

“Is that right?” asked Mr. Moran, as one deeply impressed.  “We must go to it—­what?”

“We must!” Charlotte said happily.  “Any morning, Kenneth!”

“Sure, I’ll telephone!” agreed the youth enthusiastically.  “I’m trying to find Kent Parmalee; his aunt wants him!” he added mumblingly, as he began to vaguely shoulder his way through the crowd again.

“You’d better take a microscope!” said Charlotte wittily.  And Mr. Moran’s burst of laughter and his “That’s right, too!” came back to them as he went away.

“Dear fellow!” Mrs. Haviland said warmly.

“Isn’t he nice!” Charlotte said, fluttered and glowing.  She hoped in her heart that she would meet him again, but although the Havilands stayed until nearly six o’clock they did not do so; perhaps because shortly after this conversation Kenneth Moran met Miss Vivian Sartoris, and they took a plateful of rich, crushy little cakes and went and sat under the stairs, where they took alternate bites of each other’s mocha and chocolate confections, and where Vivian told Kenneth all about a complicated and thrilling love affair between herself and one of the popular actors of the day.  This narrative reflected more credit upon the young woman’s imagination than upon her charms had the listener but suspected it, but Kenneth was not a brilliant boy, and they had a lovely time over their confidences.

Charlotte’s romantic encounter with the gentleman, however, made her happy for several hours, and colored her cheeks rosily.

“You’re getting pretty, Carlotta!” said her Aunt Rachael, observing this.  “Don’t drink tea, that’s a good child!  You can stuff on cakes and chocolate of course, Isabelle,” she added, “but Charlotte’s complexion ought to be her first thought for the next five years!”

“I don’t really want any,” asserted Charlotte, feeling wonderfully grown-up and superior to the claims of a nursery appetite.  “But can’t I help you, Aunt Rachael?”

“No, my dear, you can’t!  I’m through the worst of it, and being bored slowly but firmly to death!  Gertrude, I’m just saying that your party bores me.”