She had no one to make plans with, and when she was taken sightseeing it was by a French teacher, more intent on improving her pupil's accent than in giving her a happy time.
As they were finishing their dessert, Mr.Sherman suddenly remembered that he had a letter in his pocket for Lloyd, which he had forgotten to give her.
"It is from Joyce," she said, looking at the post-mark.

"Oh, if she were only heah, what a lovely time we could have! It would be like havin' anothah house pahty.

May I read it now at the table, mothah?
It is to all of us." Fidelia almost held her breath.

She was so afraid that Mrs.Sherman would suggest waiting until they went to the parlour.

There she could no longer be one of them, no matter how hard she might pretend.