Dorothy hung up the receiver, yawned as daintily as a Persian kitten, rubbed her eyes and rang the maid’s bell.  She smiled happily at the golden sunlight that crept through the slit of the drawn pink curtains.  Another beautiful brand new day to play with, a day full of delightful, adventurous surprises—­a debutante’s luncheon, a matinee, a the dansant, a dinner, too.  Dorothy swung her little white feet from under the covers and crinkled her toes delightedly ere she thrust them in the cozy satin slippers that awaited them; a negligee to match, with little dangling bunches of blue flower buds, she threw over her shoulders with a delicate shiver, as the maid closed the window and admitted the full light of day.  Hopping on one foot by way of waking up exercises, she crossed to the dressing-table, dabbed a brush at her touseled hair, then concealed it under a fluffy boudoir cap.  She paused to innocently admire her reflection in the silver rimmed mirror, turning her head from side to side, the better to observe the lace frills and twisted ribbons of her coiffe.  Breakfast arrived, steaming on its little white and chintz tray, and Dorothy smacked hungry lips.

“Oo—­oo—­how perfectly lovely—­crumpets! and scrambled eggs!  I’m starved!” She settled herself, eagerly cooing over the fragrant coffee.  “Now, if only Mother were here,” she exclaimed.  “It’s so lonely breakfasting without her!”

But her loneliness was not for long.  An avalanche of Aunt Lydia entered the room, quite filling it with her fluttering presence.  Tante Lydia’s morning cap was quite as youthful as that of her niece, her flowered wrapper as belaced and befurbelowed as the lingiere could make it, and her high heeled mules were at least two sizes too small, and slapped as she walked.

“My dear,” she bubbled girlishly, thrusting a stray lock of questionable gold beneath her cap, “I thought I’d just run in and sit with you.  I’ve had my breakfast ages ago—­indeed, yes—­and seen the housekeeper, and ordered everything.  It was shockingly late when we got in last night, my dear.  I really hadn’t a notion it was after three, till you came after me into the conservatory.  That was a delightful affair last night, I must say, even if Mrs. May is so loud.  She isn’t stingy in the way she entertains, like Mrs. Best’s, where we were Wednesday.  That was positively a shabby business.  Now, dear, what do we do to-day?  I’ve just looked over my calendar, and I want to see yours.  Really, we are so crowded that we’ve got to cut something out—­we really have.”  As she spoke she crossed to Dorothy’s slim-legged, satin wood writing desk, and picked up an engagement book.  “You lunch with the Wootherspoons—­that’s good.  Then I can go to the Caldens for bridge in the afternoon at four.  You won’t be back from the matinee and tea at the Van Vaughns’ until after six, and we dine at the Belmans’ at eight.  That’ll do very nicely.  And then, dear, about my dress at Bendel’s; I do wish you could find a minute to see my fitting.  I can’t tell whether I ought to have that mauve so near my face, or whether it ought to be pink; and you know that fitter doesn’t care how I look, just so she gets that gown of her hands, and I can’t make up my mind—­when I can’t see myself at a distance from myself, and those fitting rooms are so small!”