Read House Party for Free Online Page A

guided them to the true glory.
    And Claire had done a bang-up job on herself as well. The only way she could possibly be distinguished from the society girls who worked at the shop was that her clothes, her manners, her voice and her grammar were so good. It took a practiced eye to tell the difference.
    "Gee, doll, you look like a million," Miss Golden said, as Claire straightened her seams, smoothed her black linen sheath, drew on the spotless gloves—grooming was everything. "Say how's about I loan you a hat?"
    "Well . . ." Claire began. She'd planned her wardrobe right down to the last bobbypin, but a hat from Miss Golden's department carried with it a certain cachet.
    "C'mon down to the workroom, doll. I got something would be a knockout on you. Black horsehair cartwheel. Retails at eighty. Made it for Hildegarde."
    Going down in the service elevator, Claire, in a burst of gratitude, confided to Miss Golden that she was going to Pruitt's Landing with Paul Ames. Now she was glad she had. Gert's infallible memory for inconsequentials had provided Claire with some very consequential facts. Before they reached Custom Hats, Gert had given Claire a capsule portrait and rough credit rating of the whole clan.
    What Claire had hardly dared to suspect about Paul Ames was now all too wonderfully true. Claire considered Paul a kind of good-luck charm. Since she'd known him she'd not only met some veryconservative people, but she'd been made a buyer. If she could be a success as young Miss Devine, what couldn't she become as young Mrs. Ames? A society name still went a long way in fashion. Visions of Claire Ames, Section Manager; Claire Ames, Cushion Coordinator, danced beneath Hildegarde's hat as Claire Devine studied her reflections in the triple mirror.
    "It's gawgeous, doll," Miss Golden cooed.
    "Gert, you're an angel! I'll bring it back first thing Tuesday."
    "Okeydoke, doll. Have fun," Miss Golden said with a motherly smile.
    Heads turned on the main floor as Claire strode toward the front door, and straight out to New York's most unusual automobile. The customers in the shop took in every detail. They knew that next year they would be wearing what Claire had on today.
    "Gee, Miss Golden," a salesgirl said, "Miss Devine's a darling."
    "She's a bitch !" Gert spat. "May I help you, Modom?"

4: En Route
     
    Uncle Ned had been rather alarmed to learn that Paul's young lady worked in a shop, but when he saw Claire emerge onto Fifth Avenue, saw the doorman tip his cap deferentially, grasp Claire's smart suitcase and pitch it expertly up onto the luggage rack, he heaved a sigh of relief. Here was a girl with real style. Uncle Ned stole a glance at Paul and chuckled. My, but wasn't love written all over the boy's sensitive face! Paul was an odd one—brooding—rather like that poor young Rudi Hapsburg who got into that sordid mess at the Mayerling hunting lodge. Moody.
    "C-Claire," Paul was saying, "I'd like you to meet my great-uncle. Miss Devine, this is Mr, Pruitt."
    Nice manners, Paul. "Enchanté, my dear," Uncle Ned said, bending over Claire's hand. "Do let me help you up. You are to sit between Fang and me. Paul, you may take a jump seat. Here, boy, just put your bag up front with Sturgis. Ah, my dear," he said, turning to Claire, "you must forgive an old man's maunderings, but when I saw your lovely flower face beneath the splendor of that perfect hat, I could think only of my dear, dear friend, Princess Sophie Victoria of Nymphenburg, later Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, when I saw her first at Schloss Nymphenburg back in . . ." A ferocious honking of taxi horns cut short Uncle Ned's foray into the Almanach de Gotha.
    "How very charming of you," Claire said, smiling first radiantly at Uncle Ned and then at Paul.
    Fang snuffled at Claire's ear. She shuddered convulsively. Then she smiled at Uncle Ned. "I adore chows, Mr. Pruitt. They're so, so utterly distingué.”
    "Charming," Uncle Ned said, patting Claire's glove with his