this, and after a moment or two of silence Mrs. Gault recommenced, in a brisk and unemotional tone:
"I don't understand you at all, Tishy; but I do know that if you don't stop crying you 'll look a perfect fright at dinner, and everybody will be wondering what's the matter with you."
This appeal to her pride had a good effect upon Letitia. She struggled with her tears and finally subdued them. But her flushed and swollen countenance needed much attention, and when Mrs. Gault left the room she carried with her a picture of her sister sitting before the mirror solicitously dabbing at her eyelids with a powder-puff.
When she appeared all traces of her previous distress seemed successfully obliterated. It remained for the eye of love to penetrate the restorative processes with which she had doctored her telltale countenance.
Near the end of dinner Tod McCormick, who sat beside her, leaned toward her and said, in the low tone of long-established friendship:
"What 's the matter, Tishy? You look sort of bunged up."
Letitia said nothing was the matter—why?
The small, red-rimmed eyes of Tod passed over her face, lingering with the solicitude of affection upon the delicately pink eyelids and nostrils.
