Etwald had become acquainted with Jen professionally, and having cured the major of one of his frequent attacks of ague, he had passed from being a mere medical attendant into the closer relationship of a friend. The boys had met him once or twice, but neither of them cared much for his sombre personality, and they were not overpleased to find that the major had invited the man to meet them on the occasion of this special dinner.,
The dressing room was crowded to its limit, paint brushes were being washed and stained hands scrubbed at the line of faucets that occupied two sides of the room; girls were hurrying into their street clothes, while others, coming in for the night life, were getting into aprons and paint dresses; some few who were staying for the night life were curled up on the wide couches, exchanging comments with their friends among the hurrying crowd while they refreshed themselves with crackers or cakes.,
For a year after the funeral they forget about the poor bereaved, and when they do remember her they speak to and of her in the same tones of voice they used at the obsequies. Then sooner or later some neighbour is sure to see some man walk home from church with her, or hear some masculine voice in her front garden. Mr. Blake gave Mrs. Caruther's little Jessie a ride in his trap and helped her out at her mother's gate just before last Christmas, and if the poor widow hadn't acted quickly the town would have noticed them to death before he proposed to her. They were married the day after New Year's Day, and she lost lots of good friends because she didn't give them more time to talk about it.,
"Not until after the body had been stolen," returned Jen, mindful that Isabella had come into the library dry-shod.
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"Do let her read it to us," begged Judith. "You chatter so, Miss Pat, that no one can get a word in edgewise.",
"What was it all about?" asked Patricia, much diverted by the picture of the mournful monitor facing the dreaded Board. "What did she say?",
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"What a beautiful description of a spring day in the country by a budding literary light," commented Patricia merrily. "I'm afraid your style is rather going off, Ju! You haven't been consulting that dictionary of yours recently."
"Mrs. Dallas," said David, faintly. "It was Mrs. Dallas."
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"Why in the world didn't she say so before?" cried Griffin indignantly. "She had a chance to defend herself. We're not absolutely inhuman."
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"I think it is my fault," said Isabella, hastily. "I remarked that Dido was always agitated when you came to this house."
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>"I wish I could draw," mused Patricia, absently sugaring her Frankfurter. "I've got tons of ideas already."
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