met Mr. Carey, haven't you? Curtis, this is our dear Miss Plympton, whom we couldn't live without. She gave us that lovely picklefork, you remember. Wait, Miss Plympton. Will you take these to your mother, with my love?" She took an armful of roses from a vase and thrust them dripping into Miss Plympton's summer-silk arms, against her summer-silk bosom. "And tell her she must hurry up and get well for my wedding, because I refuse to have it without her."
Miss Plympton's eyes filled with tears again. "I'm sorry I was so stupid," she whispered. "I've got the—you-knows—with me. I can change that lace all right."
"Goo-sie! You're not to touch them if it's the least bit of trouble." Christabel dropped a kiss lightly on the crumpled cheek.
"I think she's—an angel," said Miss Plympton to Curtis, with a sniff, and he answered:
"That makes it unanimous, Miss Plympton."
