“Not particularly simple, if she can’t get it,” I disagreed. “And poor Beata doesn’t believe she’ll ever be able to save it, and she loved him so. His name is Pietro La Nasa, and he _is_ good looking. . . . I’ve seen him standing in the court--he knows Gino, who owns the brass shop down there--and he looks up so _longingly_--and you know how much Beata cries--” “Yes, I know--” Suddenly Leslie turned and clasped my hand between both of hers. “Look here, Jane,” she said, and with the prettiest look I had ever seen on her pretty face, “we’ll try to make this a real party. . . . My father sent me a little extra money--I had a dividend from something or other that has done well--and I’d _love_ to spend it this way. . . . As you say, the crowd here probably haven’t had a good time for years--” “And may not again for years--if ever--” I put in. Leslie nodded. “We’ll _do_ it,” she said, with lots of energy in her voice. “And you can ask Viola to help with the decorating and so on. . . . Understand, _I want nothing to do with her after it is over_. . . . I shall never forget the things she said to me about my Grandfather who had a _little_ interest in a factory where they put up chow chow (he made his _fortune in railroads_) and about my having an inflated idea of my own importance. I have _not_, but I assure you, Jane, the Harris-Clarkes are _nobodies_--” Well, I’d heard that all about a thousand times before, and I had got so that I was honestly bored--and for the first time in my life--whenever Viola started on the Parrishes, or Leslie about the Harris-Clarkes. “I can’t give any presents,” I broke in. “I’ll loan you any amount, dear,” said Leslie, quickly. “No, you won’t!” I answered. “I won’t give presents because I _shouldn’t_, but we can have an awfully good time, presents or not!” “And will!” she promised, quickly, and then she crawled out and put a kettle of water over her spirit lamp and began to make tea, and I had three cups and four crackers and two slices of nut cake and some kisses. Then, feeling a little refreshed, I went back to my own room, on the way stopping at Viola’s. “It’s all right,” I said, from the doorway, “she’ll pretend, if you will--” “I’m honestly _glad_,” said Viola. Before I started on, I saw her lick the flap of the envelope that was to take her complaining letter across the sea to her father--I had a queer, sad feeling as she did it, and then I said a short “By,” and went on to my own room. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS Two days later at about five in the afternoon, Leslie looked around the living room which was growing dark, as she said, “I think we’ve done wonderfully!” Viola was tying some red tissue paper around the funny little tree that Leslie, with great effort, had got from a florist, and after she stood erect and stretched, she responded to Leslie with a murmured, “Simply _sweet_!”