Thick portieres covered the doorway, and by them stood the butler, who
asked my name. Really, for a moment I could not remember it, I was so
startled at this sudden ceremony in the house of a friend, of such long
standing that I had jumped rope on the sidewalk with her, making
occasional trips arm-in-arm around the corner to Taffy John's little shop
for molasses peppermints and 'blubber rubbers.'
"My hesitation seemed to add to the distrust that my appearance had in
some way created. The butler also swept me from head to foot with his
critical stare, and at the same moment I became internally aware that I
had forgotten to remove my arctic over-boots. Never mind, my gown was
long, I would curl up my toes, but return to the dressing-room in full
sight of that man, I whose forbears had outbowled Peter Stuyvesant, and,
I fear, outdrunk him--never! Then the portieres flew apart, and facing
a glare of bilious-hued electric light, I heard the shouted announcement
of 'Miss Doormat' as I stumbled over a tiger rug into the room. I believe
the fellow did it on purpose. However, it was very funny, and my
rubber-soled arctics probably prevented my either coasting straight
across into the open fireplace, or having a nasty fall, while the laugh
that the announcement created on the part of my host, Archie Martin,
saved me from an awkward moment, for from a sort of gilt throne-like
arrangement at one side of the hearth, arrayed in brocaded satin gowns
cut very low and very long, heads crimped to a crisp, and fastened to
meagre shoulders by jewelled collars, the whole topped by a group of
three 'Prince of Wales' feathers, Cordelia and her sister came forward
two steps to greet me.
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