“Certainly I will; I’m very glad to. But I’m sure your fears are groundless. What about Mrs. Black? Is she alarmed?”
“No, Eleanor laughs at me.”
“Then I think you needn’t disturb yourself. Surely she——”
“Yes, I know what you’re going to say, but she isn’t a bit fonder of Uncle Rowly than I am. Good-by.”
Avice hung up the receiver with a little snap. She was willing that Mrs. Black should marry her uncle, but she did hate to be relegated to second place in the household. Already the handsome widow was asserting her supremacy, and while Avice acknowledged the justice of it, it hurt her pride a little.
“I’ve asked Judge Hoyt to dinner,” she said, as she returned to her post at the window.
Mrs. Black glanced up from the evening paper she was reading and murmured an indistinct acquiescence.
It was late June, yet the city home of the Trowbridges was still occupied by the family. As Avice often said, the big town house was cooler than most summer resorts, with their small rooms and lack of shade. Here, the linen-swathed furniture, the white-draped chandeliers and pictures, the rugless floors, all contributed to an effect of coolness and comfort.
Avice, herself, in her pretty white gown, fluttered from one window to another, looking out for her uncle.
“Mrs. Black, why do you suppose Uncle Rowly doesn’t come? He said he would be home early, and it’s after six o’clock now!”