Elma carried the little handkerchief distractedly to her lips, then was appalled at the desecration.
Oh--and yet how lovely! It was really Adelaide Maud's!
She tenderly folded it.
How distinguished the drawing-room appeared! How delightful to have had a father who made no mistakes in the choice of furniture! Cuthbert had said so. She could almost imagine that the mauve toque must have bowed before the Louis Seize clock and acknowledged the Cardinal Wolseley chair. It did not occur to her to think that Mrs. Dudgeon might size up the whole appearance of that charming room in a request for pillars and Georgian mirrors, and beaded-work cushions. It is not given to every one to see so far as this, however, and Elma--as Miss Dudgeon for the afternoon--complimented her imaginary hosts on everything. As a wind-up Miss Dudgeon asked Mrs. Leighton particularly if her third daughter might come to take tea with Hermione.
"So sweet of you to think of it," said the imaginary Mrs. Leighton, once more in working order.
Out of these dreams emerged Elma. Some one was calling her abruptly.
"Coming," she shrieked wildly, and clutched the handkerchief.
She kept it till she got to Cuthbert. It seemed to her that he, as an invalid, might be allowed a bit of a treat and a secret all to himself.
"Adelaide Maud left her handkerchief," she said. "We shall have to call to return it."
He gazed at the bit of cambric.