"Stop teasing, Hu, and tell us," Hope urged.
"Really, I don't know much about them," Hubert returned, with an air of lazy indifference. "Look out, Ted, you're tipping over Hope's basket. One would think we'd never had any new neighbors before, from the way you act."
"We haven't, for ages. Tell us, Hu, there's a dear, what are they like?"
"I honestly didn't have a chance to see them, Ted. She's tall and pretty, and has a lot of fuzzy light red hair."
"Of course she was in mourning," Hope said.
"Yes, I suppose so. At least, she had a pile of black stuff hanging down her back. I don't see why women should pin a black shawl over their heads, when somebody dies; but then—"
"How old is the son?" Theodora interrupted.
"About our ages, I should say."
"Did he look ill?" Hope asked pitifully.
"No; only pale."