The Waterbury Democrat., 1932-01-04
BEGIN HERE TO-DAY

ANNE, CECILY and MARY. FRANCES FENWICK live with their grandparents, once wealthy. now so impoverished that Annc's and Cecily's earnings support the household. The sisters have been orphaned since childhood. The grandparents arc known rcspec- lively as "ROSALIE" and "GRAND" and they insist on keen ing up pretenses of their former wealth. Anne, 28, and Cecily, 22, do secretarial work, and Mary Frances, 15, is still in school. All the girls are attractive. When the story opens Anne has been en- gagged to PHILIP ECROYD, young lawyer, for eight years. They can not marry because Anne knows ner sisters and grandparents de- home.
 Cccily brings BARRY McKEEL home to dinner without teIeplion. ing. She has known him only short time but is falling In love with him. Anne point sOut there is nothing in the house with which to prepare company dinner. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY
 CHAPTER "
 You act as if 1t were my fault" said Ann, and pushed some more cans.
 "No, don't" Cecil disputed. That's the trouble here, though. Everything Is horrid and awful all the time, and 1t never is anybody's fault. mean, 1t really isn't ever anybody's fault. Well, I'll go and tell him."
 She would have to make 8 joke of 1t. How should she begin? "Frightfully sorry" No, that sounded affected and too true. "The silliest thing has happened -" Having no food in the house was not a subject for jokes; it was wretched, and humiltating, and hu- morless. At least she could re- fuse his invitation to go somewhere and dine with him. Possibly, prob- ably, he wouldn't ask her. He'd have to ask her
 "Cecily," Ann was holding her arm. "Where are you going2 ] What do you mean you are going | to tell him?"
 That he can't have dinner"
 "I must say! That would be nice | wouldn't 1t? What would he think | of us? The ideal I've found some minced clams-1 thought we had Q | can of them--and I'll make chow der. We'll have jelly omelet, mullins. For dessert we'll have | nuts and cheese--there's a olt of that good cheese that Mrs Hill sent | from her brothers farm-and I'll | toast some crackers. If there's | nothing on the table but the chow der when we sit down, Grand will | say a short grace. That's a big advantage, and"
 Cecily tossed back her head and laughed and caught Ann in her arms. Angel! You're so good and So funny, and you don't know 1t! You're a peach, and a little holy person. and a blessing undisguised, and"
 Don't" said Ann. But then she patted Cecily's cheek and said, "Sflly---silly" and smiled stoutIy in spite of the something aghast within her consciousness that was insisting over and over. "She does care for him. She really cares for him. She cares that much"
 
 Brands grace had been short to the point of abruptness. The chowder had been fair and very. hot; the omelet picture garnished with parsley and cooked carrot rings; the salad a gay quip that only Ann could have produced and the mullins puffed yellow para gons.
 Rosalie, though she had girded on all her cosmetics before she came forth in the pink velvet blouse and her second best old black shirt, had been, perhaps, not too charming. Barry couldn't have been so deferential had he thought her merely silly old thing. And Grand, up to the present painful moment had been courteous and unquestionlng. Now, as he cracked the walnuts-- he had explained that they grew right here on our own trees on our own estate, and why the nuts, trees, and estate were superior to all other nuts, trees and estates--he had begun that inquisitive authorl- tativeness that he liked to assume with young men.
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