"Violet time is over at the Cape," she remarked.
"What?"
"I say, violet time's over at the Cape. Daisies and clover now, and the wild roses swelling up and getting ready."
Even the preoccupied Linda observed a new vitality in her companion's face, and life in her eyes in place of endurance.
"You're riding backward, Aunt Belinda. I didn't notice till this minute. Change with me." The girl leaned forward.
"Sit still, child. It makes no difference to me."
"Then come here beside me." Miss Barry hesitated. Once she would have declined on the ground of mutual comfort, but an overture from her captive was remarkable.
"Well, if it won't crowd you," she said, and after a moment of reluctance she obeyed.
"Don't you want to sit by the window?" asked the girl.
"Law, no. I wish the artists who do the Castoria signs would adopt futurist methods." As she spoke, Miss Barry made herself as small as she could against the arm of the seat, and again caressed her nose with Freddy Whitcomb's violets. The divan opposite was filled with American Beauties, magazines, and bon-bon boxes.