Lynch's dinner of "pot
roast and cabbage salad."
"You'll think we're awfully poor, Robin, when you see that mean old
cottage," Beryl complained as the girls were dressing for the dinner.
Robin, hesitating between a Madonna blue and a yellow dress, turned
quickly at the tone in Beryl's voice.
"Oh, Beryl, what difference does your house make! I want to know your
mother and your father and--Dale."
"Well, there's no use your dressing up--it'll just make everything else
there look absurdly shabby."
Robin laid the garment she held down upon the bed. A puzzled look
darkened the glow in her eyes. There were a great many times when she
found it difficult to understand Beryl's changing moods. She herself was
too indifferent to clothes to know that it was the two pretty gowns she
had brought out from her wardrobe that had now sent Beryl into the
dumps.
"I won't dress up, Beryl. I just thought your mother would like to have
me--out of respect to her party. I didn't think you wouldn't like it.
But if you think I'm going down there to stare around at the things in
the house and pick to pieces the dishes and the food--you're wrong,
Beryl.
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