dignant. I described that dress to the last ribbon in the Star.
The two servants were now distributing strawberry ice-cream, angel-cake, coffee in large cups, with cream and sugar, salted almonds in pink crepepaper-baskets, and olives in cut-glass bowls.
Mayme Townsend was talking intimately to Lou Poore.
She musn't do that here. You've got to tell her to stop it, she said.
Lou was apologetic, trembling. I did tell her, Mayme. She says she won't stop.
I don't know what's gotten into her. She should know better. She's got to stop. I'll tell her so myself. If she doesn't she'll be talked about all over town.
I don't believe it'll do any good, moaned Lou. She says she looks like a fright without it.
What difference can it make to a woman of her age how she looks, just so she looks natural?
Mrs. Barnes was also conversing very earnestly with her neighbour on the adjoining camp-chair. To think, she said, that Mrs. Townsend should bring her sister here, right under Mrs. Sinclair's nose. Some people have no sensitiveness, no pride.
May be she doesn't know, her neighbour suggested.
Know? Of course she knows! Everybody knows. Why, the doctor drives over there every day, and you can't say that Sarah Wiltbank looks sick.
