"It's just the color of your eyes. Your Nick will fall in love deeper than ever," Christabel said. She had yielded to a generous impulse and invited Ellen's fiancé, Nicholas Portal, to dinner. She hoped he would be presentable. Ellen, who should have been down putting the place cards around, leaned in the doorway, silver-blue folds pouring from her crossed arms, looking lost and happy. "Wake up, Ellen darling, wake up!" Christabel called to her. "I really do believe the child's in love!"
Ellen threw her arms tight around Christabel's neck, hiding her face, whispering:
"I am—I am!"
A Venetian lady in trailing silver, Christabel went to Curtis's dressing room, and found him in his underclothes, practicing golf strokes.
"Really, Curtis! You must get dressed. It's a quarter to eight. Mother came, but she's too"
Curtis's eyes glazed; he settled himself on his feet; his joined hands slowly lifted, then
