Part 2 (1/2)
That's a lovely piece of Battenburg, Mrs. Stott. When did you start it?”
”Last month, but I've been so busy with teas and parties--so many, many things going on. Don't you think it will make a lovely dresser-scarf?
What would you line it with?”
”Pink, absolutely--that delicate shade like the inside of a sea-sh.e.l.l.”
”You _are_ such an artist, Wallie! Your taste is perfect.”
Wallie did not contradict her.
Strictly, Mrs. Stott did not belong in the group in which she was seated. She had been coming to The Colonial only eleven years, so really, she should have been on the other side of the veranda, but Mrs.
Stott had such an insidious way of getting where and what she wanted that she was ”one of them” almost before they knew it.
Mr. Stott was a rising young attorney of forty-eight, and it was antic.i.p.ated that he would one day be a leading trial lawyer because of his aggressiveness.
Wallie's voice took on a sympathetic tone. He stopped in front of a chair where a very thin young lady was reclining languidly.
”How's the bad heart to-day, Miss Eyester?”
”About as usual, Wallie, thank you,” she replied, gratefully.
”Your lips have more colour.”
Miss Eyester opened a handbag and, taking out a small, round mirror which she carried for the purpose, inspected her lips critically.
”It does seem so,” she admitted. ”If I can just keep from getting excited.”
”I can't imagine a better place than The Colonial.” The reply contained a grain of irony.
”That's why I come here,” Miss Eyester sighed, ”though I'm _pining_ to go somewhere livelier.”
Wallie wagged his head playfully.
”Treason! Treason! Why, you've been coming here for--” Miss Eyester's alarmed expression caused him to finish lamely--”for ever so long.”
”Wallie!” It was his aunt's voice calling and he went instantly to a tall, austere lady in a linen collar who was knitting wash-rags with the feverish haste of a piece-worker in a factory.
He stood before her obediently.
”Don't go in to-day.”
”_Why_, Auntie?” In his voice there was a world of disappointment.
”It's too rough--there must have been a storm at sea.”
”But, Auntie,” he protested, ”I missed yesterday, taking Mrs. Appel to the auction. It isn't very rough----”
”Look at the white-caps,” she interrupted, curtly, ”I don't want you to go, Wallie.”