Some one tapped at the door, and he sprang to answer it.
"I've just been to your room, and the maid said you were in here," said
Harold Phipps's voice.
"Come right in!" cried Papa Claude, flinging wide the door. "We are just
discussing plans, and need you to cast the deciding vote."
"But I'm not dressed, Papa Claude!" expostulated Eleanor. "I still have
on my kimono."
"A charming costume," said Papa Claude--"one in which a whole nation
appears in public. I leave it to my distinguished collaborator: could any
toilet, however elaborate, be more becoming?"
Harold gave a light laugh as his glance rested with undisguised approval
on the slender figure in its clinging silk garment, the rosy hues of
which were reflected in the girl's flaming cheeks.
"Just stopped for a second, C. M.," Harold said, avoiding her indignant
eyes. "I wanted to tell you about the New York press notices. They are
simply superb! _Tribune_ has a column. The _Times_ and _Herald_ give us
a headliner. And even the old _Sun_ says there are passages in 'Phantom
Love' that might have been written by Moliere!"
"Where are the papers?" cried Papa Claude, prancing with excitement.
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