She was looking distractingly pretty, as he perceived when she turned to greet him. Her close-fitting black dress, with the spray of tuberose at the throat, and the great holland apron with its braided bib suited her to perfection; the sober tints setting off to advantage the delicate tones of her complexion, which in these days was more wonderfully pink and white than ever.
"And how are your sisters? I needn't ask how you are?" cried Frank, who in the earlier stages of their acquaintance had been rather surprised at himself for not falling desperately in love with Phyllis Lorimer.
"Everybody is flourishing," she answered, leaning against the little mantelshelf in the waiting-room, and looking down upon Frank's sunburnt, uplifted face.
A look of mischief flashed into her eyes as she added, "There is a great piece of news."
Frank grasped the back of the frail red chair on which he sat astride in a manner rather dangerous to its well-being, and said abruptly, "Well, what is it?"
"One of us is going to be married."
"Oh!" said Frank, with a sort of gasp, which was not lost on his interlocutor.
"I am not going to tell you which it is. You must guess," went on Phyllis, looking down upon him demurely from under her drooped lids, while a fine smile played about her lips.
"Oh, I'll begin at the beginning," said poor Frank, with rather strained cheerfulness. "Is it Miss Gertrude?"
Phyllis played a moment with the feather-duster, then answered slowly, "You must guess again."