THE LOCKED ROOM
Ursula Pell leaned back in her chair and shrieked with laughter.
"She will have stuffed dates and fancy fixin's, will she?" she cried; "I just guess she's had enough of those fallals now!"
"It quite spoiled her pretty frock," said Mrs. Bowen, timidly remonstrant.
"That's nothing, I'll buy her another. Oh, I did that pretty cleverly, I can tell you! I took a little capsule, a long, thin one, and I filled it with ink, just as you'd fill a fountain pen. Oh, oh! Iris was so mad! She never suspected at all; and she bit into that date—oh! oh! wasn't it funny!"
"I don't think it was," began Mrs. Bowen, but her husband lifted his eyebrows at her, and she said no more.
Though a clergyman, Alexander Bowen was not above mercenary impulses, and the mere reference, whether it had been meant or not, to a jeweled chalice made him unwilling to disapprove of anything such an influential hostess might do or say.
"Iris owes so much to her aunt," the rector said smilingly, "of course she takes such little jests in good part."
"She'd better," and Ursula Pell nodded her head; "if she knows which side her bread is buttered, she'll kiss the hand that strikes her."
"If it doesn't strike too hard," put in Mrs. Bowen, unable to resist some slight comment.