“I’ve met Mr. Paddock; I’m on the Children’s Hospital committee with him. You see, as Mrs. Craighill I’m ex-officio--is that right?--in a lot of things already. I’d rather prefer to wait a little and be recognized on my own merits, but then----” “Maybe they’re afraid to wait for your merits to disclose themselves,” he suggested. “Please don’t say unkind things to me. I’m likely to cry.” “Don’t do that. Tears wouldn’t add anything to the effect of that gown; it’s one of the most perfect things I have ever seen you wear.” “It isn’t bad, is it?” she rose with sudden animation and took a turn across the room, looking over her shoulder at her shadow in a long mirror. “It’s charming. There’s no denying that there’s something very nice about you, Addie. You know how to wear your clothes; this matronly air you’ve been cultivating--the much-married look, isn’t wholly to my taste, but you’ll do. What’s that you’ve been reading?” He stooped and picked up what appeared to be a magazine in a linen cover, stamped with gold letters. She caught at it, but he held it away and opened upon several hundred sheets of typewritten manuscript neatly bound into the case. He flung it aside, laughing aloud. “The Colonel’s speeches! Lord, Addie, do you think you _have_ to do it?” She had coloured, but manifested no resentment at his tone. “He asked me if I didn’t want to read some of his things, and what was the answer?” “Yes; what was it? It’s taking a mean advantage though! It was fitting that you should come in here to read those orations; they’re like the furniture--lines of austerest grace, with a little gilt stuck on here and there. You must have had a roaring time of it.” “Oh, I haven’t done so badly!” She produced a novel and tapped the cover significantly. “I really haven’t felt called on to commit all the speeches to memory. You wouldn’t suggest that, would you?” “I shouldn’t exclude that from the parental expectations. It would undoubtedly boost you in the Colonel’s regard. It would show a becoming interest in his affairs. A man of ideals must have a sympathetic wife.” “He’s locked up with his ideals, which are probably quite beyond me--and I’m outside the door,” she concluded plaintively. “That’s wholly complimentary. You are distracting--never more so than now. You affect my own ideals pleasantly. It was always so. I wonder what would have happened if--well, if your dear mother hadn’t been so obviously and beastly grasping.”