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The next afternoon when Elinor, completely restored after a day's rest, took out her drawing-board and began to work, Patricia brought out her own study for a final criticism before laboriously lugging it up to the Academy. "You are tempting Providence, Molly Carter," she exclaimed decidedly. "Don't you know Tom Pollard is nothing but a scatter-brained fly-away? As a husband there'd be no dependence on him. Besides being your cousin, he's younger than you. What do you mean?" "I have seen it," corrected Etwald, with professional calmness, "the poor fellow is dead, major--dead from blood-poisoning.".
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Judith did not know whether she was being chaffed or not, so she dexterously changed the subject. François served them deftly, while still attending to all the other tables, and Patricia, in the intervals of merry chatter, wondered at the innumerable bits of respectful conversation he managed to supply his patrons in addition to his very satisfactory table service, and she said so to Bruce, just as the dessert had been placed and François had withdrawn to a party of newcomers. Judith as she kissed him was wrinkling her smooth brows at him. "But I thought you were going to bring Tom Hughes——" she began, hesitatingly. "The devil-stick gone!" he said, turning on his heel. "Both you and I must be careful, Maurice.".
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