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"What flowers are you having?" she asked, finally.
"White lilacs and pussy-willow. Did your orchids come?"
"Thanks, yes. But I'm not wearing them. My gown is flame color.
They simply shrieked."
"Flame color?"
"A sort of orange," she explained. And, in a slightly defiant tone:
"Rodney's is a costume dance, you know."
"Do you mean you are in fancy dress?"
"I am, indeed."
He was rather startled. The annual dinner of the board of governors
of the City Club and their wives was a most dignified function
always. He was the youngest by far of the men; the women were all
frankly dowagers. They represented the conservative element of the
city's social life, that element which frowned on smartness and did
not even recognize the bizarre. It was old-fashioned, secure in its
position, influential, and slightly tedious.
"There will be plenty in fancy dress."
"Not at the dinner."
"Stodgy old frumps!" was Natalie's comment. "I believe you would
rather break one of the ten commandments than one of the
conventions," she added.


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