"Here are the Smyths; stand where you are; and you too, Beatrice Hill."
"Hello!" cried Smyth, coming upon them suddenly (that is Toronto's pass-word). "How do you do, Mrs. Dale; how do, Blair?"
"How happy would I be with either," said his lively wife, aside to Mr. Blair; "oh, I beg pardon," she continued, seeing the other is not one of them. "How is Mrs. Gower?"
"She is not very well this evening, and is, I hope resting. How is it your little son is out when he ought to be under the bedclothes? That's one thing I am glad my boy is at boarding-school for."
"Oh, this young man has been to a party at the Halls, and we had to trot up for him. Give Elaine my love, and tell her one look at handsome Doctor Mills, on our street, will cure her; he cured my baby. So, come around to-morrow, all of you. Oh, Will, we had better go in to Holmnest for a minute. I want to tell Elaine you have heard from Charlie."
"Oh, no; go in to-morrow. This little chap is nearly asleep."
"All right. Mrs. Dale, please tell Mrs. Gower that Charlie Cole is at New York, and she may expect to see them any day. Good night."
"Good night."
"Come, Mrs. Dale, we had better go in at once; you must be very cold."
"Yes, I am. You had better come round and get thawed out in the kitchen, Beatrice Hill, I will bring you."