"But you can’t make it, it’s a most trying thing to do--better let cook make it," interjected Mrs. Leighton. "What about our party?" asked Mabel. "Very well," said an abject mother. So that was settled. Then fruit salad, immediately claimed by Jean, who knew everything there was to be known of fruit, inside and out, as she explained volubly. Mrs. Leighton’s quiet face twitched a trifle and then resolved itself into business lines once more. Meringues! they must have meringues! Nobody seemed to rise to that. Elma felt it was her turn. "They look awfully difficult," said she, "but I could try a day or two before. I’ll do the meringues." This cost her a great effort. Mother didn’t appear at all encouraging, She snipped her lips together in rather a grim way, and it had the effect of sending a cold streak of fear up and down the back of the meringue volunteer. "Are they very difficult, mummy?" she asked apologetically. "Oh, no," said Mrs. Leighton airily. "After mayonnaise, one may do anything." "I can whip cream--beautifully," explained Elma. "It’s that queer crusty thing I’m afraid of." "I shall be ruined in eggs, I see that very distinctly," said Mrs. Leighton. After this, there seemed to be no proper opportunity for Betty. "Couldn’t I make a trifle?" she asked modestly. "A trifle at ten." Mrs. Leighton looked her over. "Oh! very well--Betty will make trifle." Betty looked as though she would drop into tears. Elma put her hand through her arm and whispered while the others debated about cakes, "I can find out all about trifles. Miss Grace knows. She made them cen--centuries ago, and Miss Annie never lets the new cooks try." Betty turned on her a happy face. "Oh, Elma, you’re most reviving," she said gratefully. Then they had cakes to consider. Now and again they had been allowed to bake cakes, and they felt that here they were on their own ground. Betty revived in a wonderful manner, and immediately insisted on baking a gingerbread one. "Nobody eats gingerbread at parties," said Mabel in a disgusted voice. "This isn’t a picnic we’re arranging, or a school-room tea. It’s a grown-up party, and we just aren’t going to have gingerbread." "Yet I’ve sometimes thought that gingerbread at a party tasted very well," remarked Mrs. Leighton. "Oh, mummy!" Mabel seemed very sorry for her mother. But Betty had regained her confidence. "I shall bake gingerbread," she exclaimed in her most dogged manner. "There are always the rabbits, of course," said Jean, with her nose in the air. "Girls, girls," said Mrs. Leighton. "Gingerbread one, walnut cream cake another. What will you bake, Jean?" "Orange icing," quoth Jean. "And sponge cake cream for Elma," she added in a thoughtful way.