With tender thoughts and skilful hands Cornelia prepared the festive dinner the next evening, and arranged a profusion of flowers everywhere. A few great luscious chrysanthemums, golden and white, lifting their tall globes in stately beauty from the gray jar in the living room; wild, riotous crimson and yellow and tawny brown, of the outdoor smaller variety, overflowing vases and bowls in the window-seats and on the stair-landing; a magnificent spray of brilliant maple leaves that Harry brought in from the woods before he went to school gracing the stone-chimney above the mantel; and on the dining table, glowing and sweet, a bowl of deep red roses, with a few exquisite white buds among them, the kind she knew her father liked because her mother loved them. There was nothing ostentatious or showy about the simple arrangement, nothing to make the member of the firm feel that the extra thousand dollars would be wasted in show. It was all simple, sweet, homelike, and in good taste. There was stewed chicken, with little biscuits and currant jelly, mashed potatoes, and succotash, and for dessert ice-cream and angel cake. A simple, old-fashioned dinner without olives or salads. She knew that would please her father best, because it was her mother’s company dinner. It was the dinner he and mother had on their wedding-trip, and would always continue to be the best of eating to his old-fashioned mind. Doubtless the old-fashioned member of the firm would enjoy it for the same reason. So Cornelia hummed a little carol as she went about stirring up the thickening for the gravy, stopping to fasten Louise’s pretty sprigged challis dress with the crimson velvet ribbon trimming, and smiling to herself that all was going well. She could hear Carey upstairs getting dressed, and Harry was already stumping downstairs. Everything was all ready. There were five minutes to spare before father had said he would arrive with his company. Grace had gone up to smooth her hair after being out all the afternoon in the wind, and Maxwell had telephoned that he was on the way and would not delay them. Then, just as she finished taking up the chicken and went into the living room to be sure Carey hadn’t left his coat and hat lying around on the piano or table, as he sometimes did, a taxi drew up at the door. At first she thought it was Maxwell’s car, and her cheeks grew a shade pinker as she drew back to glance out of the window. Then she saw it was her father getting out, and in a panic flew back to shut the kitchen door. “They’re coming!” she called softly to the brothers and sister chattering at the head of the stairs.