He's worn out, for one
thing,--though there may be more than that. But, see here,--do you mean
to tell me that's Amy Mathewson you've got downstairs? Never! It might be
her younger sister--six years younger--but not my staid nurse. Not even
you could bring about such a miracle."
"Isn't it wonderful? Yet--it isn't, at all. She's always worn her hair
strained back from her face and put up into that tight coil on the top of
her head. Dressing it properly has made two thirds of the difference and
the apricot frock makes the other third. Isn't it delightful?"
"No doubt of that. She's a mighty good girl, and if she can make shift to
be a good-looking one as well, there may be a bit of fun left in life for
her yet. She's by no means old, and you've made her young,--bless your
generous heart! I don't know how you ever managed to get her consent,
though. She thinks that uniform is her shell, and can't be doffed. But I
don't think she's likely to get much fun out of Leaver to-night. He's
just about fit for bed, or I'm no diagnostician."
"Then let's put him there," said Ellen, promptly.
"Oh, I don't mean that literally. One of your dinners ought to set him
up, and Amy Mathewson won't make any exacting demands on his brilliancy."
"Won't she? You can't tell what pretty clothes may do for her. She will
surprise you some time, in spite of the fact that you know her so well.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99