F. Don’t you think your gown ought to be made just like my black one?
A. Yes; that would be more effective.
F. And then we can wear our hair just alike.
A. It’s a pity you couldn’t have some black flowers.
F. Yes. I don’t see why the florists don’t get up some. Phew! It’s as cold as Greenland. Do go in. You’ll get your death cold.
A. Good-bye. Don’t tell what I told you.
F. No; not to a soul. How did Ethel Mott find out about the letters?
A. She wouldn’t tell.
F. Do you suppose she really knew, or only guessed?