When matters had reached this deadlock, she seated herself in a cane rocking-chair, her bunch of keys in her hand, and her eyes on the pansies that papered the bedroom wall. Both the girls, in the trim pleated skirts of their white linen suits, and their sheer shirt waists,—the two jackets had been folded and laid on one of the beds in the big, cool, clean room,—seemed exceedingly capable of rummaging exploits, and she compressed her lips with resolution as from the corner of her eyes she noted their movements, and their expectant gaze.
"Such fun, Aunt Dora, to try on something new."
"And something blue," murmured Ruth.
"Say, Aunt Dora," said Lucia, sparkling with incredible brilliancy and lustre of delighted anticipation, "do you suppose that little blue messaline waist of yours is in that trunk? I just live to try that shade! I don't want to risk buying anything in it till I can try it on. I believe it would be becoming to me."
"More so to me," said Ruth. "Anything blue suits my blond hair."
"Not that green cast—it throws green reflections on blond hair."
"Girls, this is cruel," said Mrs. Laniston, "to keep me cooped up in this close room, while there is such a fresh breeze on the verandah, and——"
"Mr. Jardine waiting to make love to you; I mean to tell papa." Ruth saucily laughed.
"You needn't stay here a minute, Aunt Dora. Just leave the keys, and go at once," said Lucia, with the eye of a bandit.
"I am fairly afraid to leave the trunk," Mrs. Laniston declared. "You are capable of opening it with a poker."