"Don't dare ask him in! If he wants
a drink of water, call me, and I'll get it for him. You must be
sitting in your chair reading a magazine when he comes and he'll
think you always spend your afternoons like that."
"I'll hurry and get dressed," agreed Mrs. Peabody, giving a last
satisfied glance at the porch. "I declare, I never saw your beat,
Betty, for making things look pretty."
Betty needed that encouragement, for when it came to making Mrs.
Peabody look pretty in the voluminous white skirt and stiff
shirtwaist of ten years past, the task seemed positively hopeless.
Betty, however, was not one to give in easily, and when she had
brushed and pinned her hostess's thin hair as softly as she could
arrange it, and had turned in the high collar of her blouse and
pinned it with a cameo pin, the one fine thing remaining to Mrs.
Peabody from her wedding outfit, adding a soft silk girdle of gray-blue,
she knew the improvement was marked. Mrs. Peabody stared at
herself in the glass contentedly.
"I didn't know I could look that nice," she said with a candor at
once pathetic and naive. "I've been wishing he wouldn't come, but now
I kinda hope he will."
Betty gently propelled her to the porch and established her in one
of the rocking chairs with a magazine to give her an air of leisure.
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