ever sees him? I’ve ceased to believe in him, personally. I can’t look across the Pacific. Consider my age, Dosia; consider my pepper-and-salt hair; consider my bronchitis; consider—”
“Consider your stupidity! As to your hair, I should hate to eat a salad dressed with that proportion of pepper. As to your age, remember you’re only ten years ahead of me, and I expect to remain thirty-eight for some time.”
“But forty-eight is centenarian to a girl of twenty-two, Dosia.”
The colonel was plaiting and unplaiting the ball-fringe of the bed-slip; his eyes followed the motion of his fingers—he did not see his sister’s triumphant smile as she dived again into the trunk.
“That depends entirely on the girl. Take Louise Morris, for instance; she regards you as partly entombed, probably”—the colonel winced involuntarily—“but, on the other hand, a girl like
