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"But," she protested, raising herself on one elbow. "It wasn't true, what Mr. Benton said about your design. Why don't you tell him so, Elinor?",Then the judge and I both laughed. We couldn't help it. The judge leaned farther over the fence, and I went a little nearer before I knew it.,As her eyes grew accustomed to the flicker and motion, she searched for Elinor, and saw her at last, the center of the weird procession, standing quietly beside the chair from which she had risen, holding her head with a sweet and gracious dignity that went straight to Patricia's chilled heart.,"Yes, sir, she do. Arsked me 'bout it, but I knowed nuffin, I didn't.","Yis," said the negress, coldly; "de great massa told me to do dat.",Dido's fierce black eyes flashed out a gleam of rage, and she cursed Maurice audibly in some barbaric tongue which Isabella seemed to understand. At all events she interrupted the woman's speech with an imperious gesture.,Here she waited in the shadow of the fluttering violet arc light, with her eyes fastened to the silent, insensible windows. Ten minutes that seemed ten eternities went lagging by. Tears of disappointment rose to Patricia's eyes and she shivered as the gusts of west wind flung the drops from the saturated trees in a silver shower across the darkened panes.,"Why, it's all ready," cried Patricia wondering at her changed manner. "We put the sliced lemon on the very last thing.",Patricia smiled and opened her lips, but the words died away, as Bruce, now with a gayety that bespoke a different sort of announcement, mounted the model stand in the middle of the room, and rapped loudly for attention. Miss Jinny had vainly tried to grab his sleeve as he slipped past her and now stood with an expression of grim martyrdom glaring at Mr. Spicer, who was smiling at her openly and, Patricia thought, heartlessly.,As she went out of the gate the postman came in, and at the sight of another letter my heart slunk off into my slippers, and my brain seemed about to back up in a corner and refuse to work. In a flash it came to me that men oughtn't to write letters to women very much—they really don't plough deep enough, they just irritate the top soil. I took this missive from Alfred, counted all the fifteen pages, put it out of sight under a book, looked out of the window and saw Mr. Johnson shooed off down the street by Mrs. Johnson; saw the doctor's car go chugging hurriedly in the garage, and then my spirit turned itself to the wall and refused to be comforted. I tried my best, but failed to respond to my own remonstrances with myself, and tears were slowly gathering in a cloud of gloom when a blue gingham, romper-clad sunbeam burst into the room.,"Lost! Stolen, you mean," growled Jen, tartly. "That negress--","Ask de great massa," said Dido once more..