"Lorry, darling, you look so sweet in that wrapper with your hair
slicked back. You look like somebody I know. Who is it? Oh, of course,
the Blessed Damozel, leaning on the bar of Heaven, only it's the bar
of the bed."

"Don't be silly, Chrystie. Get up."

"Never till I have your solemn, eternal, sworn-to promise."

"What promise?"

"To give that party."

"You have it--I said I'd do it and I will."

"And get nuggets for it?"

"Yes."

"All right, I'll go."

She sat up, rosy, disheveled, her hair hanging in a tousled mop from its
loosened pins. Catching Lorry's hand, she squeezed it, looking up at her
like an affectionate, drowsy child.

"Dear little Blessed Damozel, I love you a lot even though you are
high-minded and think I'm a snob."

She had been in her room for some minutes, Lorry already in bed with a
light at her elbow and a book in her hand, when she reappeared in the