"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina
called after.
"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation
of his was somehow invested with the paternal.
"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly.
On the clock shelf lay a letter.
"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot."
"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share
of the blame.
"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?"
Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps.
"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a
letter----"
This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a
greater importance.
"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still,
my mail should have more careful----"
He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his
motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them.
"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?"
"Something nice," Ina was sure.
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