"No," replies Gertrude, "unless you should smoke bad tobacco."
He throws back his head and laughs at that, showing all his white, even teeth.
"And when I have to go out I may be absent for days at times, where it would be inconvenient to take thee?"
"Oh, you know I should be satisfied with whatever you thought best! I am not a silly young girl to fancy myself neglected. Why, I expect you to go on with your work and your research and everything."
"Thou art a jewel," he declares, "a sensible woman. I am afraid I should not be patient with a fool, and jealousy belongs to very young people."
It is the day before Madame Lepelletier's lunch, and has rained steadily, though now shows signs of breaking away. Violet is in Gertrude's room helping her look over some clothes. Marcia and her mother have quarrelled, and she sits here saying uncomfortable things to Gertrude, that might be painful if Gertrude were not used to it.
"Gertrude," Violet begins, in her gentle tone that ought to be oil upon the waters, "what must I wear to-morrow, my pretty train silk?"
Marcia giggles insolently.
"No, dear," answers Gertrude, with a kindliness in her voice. "You must wear a short walking-dress. You are going to take a journey, and trains are relegated to carriages. You can indulge in white at the neck and wrists. In fact, there is no need of your wearing black tulle any more. And Briggs will get you a bunch of chrysanthemums for your belt."
"You can't expect to rival Madame Lepelletier," says Marcia, in the tone of one giving valuable advice.