The crime was out, try as Marcia did to conceal her book. Mrs. Willard snatched at it.

“That’s why you’re so careless. Head so full of nonsense and silly stories you don’t even know you’re alive. No wonder! Well, I’ll see to it you get your library card stopped.”

The glamor of their new life slowly sifted down to its disagreeable reality. Here they were in a fine big house with a new mother who had pretty clothes and a piano, and with their father a dignified public figure “out of the woods” at last, as he himself proudly put it. Mr. and Mrs. Harry Willard were mentioned at least once a week in the Register as being present at the Masonic Banquet, guests at Mr. Carson’s Memorial Dinner, patrons of the London Junction Boosters Annual Minstrel Show, with invitations to be members of the Bridge Club, and Mrs. Willard elected second vice-president of the Women’s Century Reading Club. Such social prominence was more than the family had ever dreamed of, and was commented upon enviously by all the relations. But try as they would, there seemed no place in this charmed life for anybody but Papa, Idah Hawkins Willard, and possibly Minelda. The night the Willards took their turn at entertaining the Bridge Club (refreshments of beer, pretzels, ice cream, and cake; prizes, a hand-embroidered muffin towel and a burnt-leather wallet) the children were instructed not to show themselves downstairs under any circumstances. Marcia and Lena exchanged a look of consternation, having boasted for several days to their schoolmates of this great event.

“When it meets at Mrs. Carson’s, Barbara passes things,” Lena said.

“Maybe they could come down and sing something,” Papa suggested.

“What would they wear?” his bride inquired. “They’d look like little tramps and nobody wants children running around at a nice party.”

The Bridge Club was a really devastating blow. Lena and Florrie had invited their intimate friends to come play with them during the party and they were desperately wondering how to ward them off. Lena sneaked down the back stairs during the party and brought back cruel reports of the party’s progress. Two of Florrie’s classmates had been brought by their parents to play with Florrie, and were seen enjoying ice cream and cake. Furthermore, Lena had heard her stepmother explaining that the reason Florrie couldn’t come down was that she was sick. Worse yet, one child was permitted—even urged—to render her piece, “Angel’s Serenade,” on the piano, when Lena could play it much faster if anybody would ever give her the chance. This shocking event brought gloom to the bedroom when Lena reported it.

“Didn’t Papa do anything about it?” Marcia asked.

“Papa clapped,” Lena said. “Then he and Mr. Chase said they would go downtown and get some more beer, and they haven’t come back yet and She is mad as hops. She keeps getting up from the card table and emptying the ashtrays even when there’s nothing in them.”

“I’m not a bit sick,” Florrie brooded, sitting up in bed. “She oughtn’t to tell lies about me. I won’t even try to call her ‘mama’ like she said we should.”