elf with planning to seat Calliope at the foot of my
table, and I found a kind of happiness in her child-like content, though
only we two knew that the occasion would do her honour. If Delia had
been available we would have told her, but Delia was still in Europe,
and would not return until June.

Calliope was quite radiant when, on the afternoon of the tea, she
arrived in advance of the others. She was wearing her best gray
henrietta, and I noted that she had changed her cameo ring from her
first to her third finger. ("First-finger rings seem to me more
everyday," she had once said to me, "but third-finger I always think
looks real dressy.") She was carrying a small parcel.

"You didn't ask to borrow anything," she said shyly; "I didn't know how
you'd feel about that, a stranger so. An' we all got together--your
company, you know--an' found out you hadn't borrowed anything from any
of us, an' we thought maybe you hesitated. So we made up I should bring
my spoons. They was mother's, an' they're thin as weddin' rings--an'
solid. Any time you want to give a company you're welcome to 'em."

When I had laid the delicate old silver in its place, I found Calliope
standing in the middle of my living-room, looking frankly about on my
simple furnishings, her eyes lingering here and there almost lovingly.

"Bein' in your house," she said, "is like bein' somewheres else. I don't
know if you know what I mean? Most o' the time I'm where I belong--just
common. But now an' then--like a holiday when we're dressed up an'
sittin' 'round--I feel differ'nt an' _special_. It was the way I felt
when they give the William Shakespeare supper in the library an' had it
lit up in the evenin' so differ'nt--like bein' somewheres else. It'll be
that way on Market Square next month when the Carnival comes. I guess
that's why I'm a extract agent," she added, laughing a little. "When I
set an' smell the spices I could think it wasn't me I feel so _special_.
An' I feel that way now--I do' know if you know what I mean--"

She looked at me, measuring my ability to comprehend, and brightening at
my nod.

"Well, most o' Friendship wouldn't understand," she said. "To them
vanilla smells like corn-starch pudding an' no more. An' that reminds
me," she added slowly, "you know Friendship well enough by this time,
don't you, to find we're apt to say things here this afternoon?"

"Say things?" I repeated, puzzling.

"We won't mean to," she hastened loyally