She tasted one dish after another, but managed to eat but little dinner. She wished her mother to think that the scolding had made her ill. It proved to be wasted effort. Mrs. Paxton had been so interested in what Mrs. Dayne was saying that she had not noticed that Floretta let the various courses go untasted. She had hoped to worry her mother, but had only punished herself! She was very hungry when they left the table, and also very angry. "I might just as well have eaten my dinner," she muttered, "she never noticed that I didn't." When the hour arrived that had been set for the concert, every guest was present, and all were talking and laughing gaily, and very glad that an evening's amusement had been provided. Outside, the rain was descending in torrents, while a cold wind whistled around the corners, as if demanding admittance. Indoors the heavy red hangings were drawn over the lace draperies, great logs blazed in the fireplaces, while over all softly shaded lights gave an air of cozy comfort that made one feel sheltered and safe from the storm. A group of ladies sat chatting together, and one, a recent arrival, was saying that she had understood that children were not permitted as guests at the Cleverton. "There are only a few children here," Mrs. Vinton said, "and some of them are charming." "While others are _not_?" questioned the stranger, with an odd smile. "I'd rather not say just that," Mrs. Vinton said, "but I will say that Mrs. Dainty's little daughter, and Dorothy's little friend, Nancy, and Flossie Barnet, are three of the sweetest children I have ever met. My stay here is brighter and far pleasanter because they are also here." "Dorothy Dainty is an unusually fine singer for a child," another lady said, "and she is to sing for us to-night. I believe Nancy Ferris is to do something, but I do not know what. Does any one know if Nancy sings?" "I've not the least idea what her talent is," said a pleasant-voiced matron, "but she is such a bright, interesting child that I feel sure that whatever she is able to do at all, she will do exceedingly well." "Aunt Vera is to play a solo for the first number," said little Flossie Barnet, to a lady who sat near her. "That is delightful," said the lady, "and what are you to do?" "Oh, I'll listen, and listen," said Flossie, "and then, I'll clap to show how much I liked what the people did." "And your friend Dorothy is to sing," said the lady, "do you know what Nancy does?" "Oh, yes, I do!" cried Flossie, "and she does it so lovely, you'll wonder how she could! I'm not to tell _what_ she'll do, none of us are to tell. You'll _see_ when she does it!" "Dear little girl, you seem quite as happy as if you were to be a soloist," said the lady. "Why, yes," said Flossie, "for when the other little girls do pretty things, I see them, but I couldn't see myself do anything!"