Chapter TenIt was after lunch that Etta Shaw propounded her plan.
“You know, Sally,” she said, “you really are my oldest friend, and I never seem to see you at all.”
“Cousin Eliza,” murmured Sally. She was looking round the room, thinking what very odd people belonged to Etta’s club. There was a woman just opposite to them who wore what looked like a white Viyella nightgown and a hat covered with purple ostrich feathers.
“Yes, I know. I’m tied like that, too, with Aunt Emma. Not that she’s really ill, you know, but she doesn’t get out of bed. She just lies there, and has her cats and her birds; and sometimes she knows me, and sometimes she doesn’t. Of course it’s a tie.”
Sally removed her fascinated gaze from the nightgown, looked at Etta with real sympathy, and said:
“Yes, it must be
