CHAPTER XIX
FLASHES OF BLUE
When Kathleen ran downstairs a little later, Phil looked at her in smiling surprise. The elegant Miss Fabian had disappeared. In her stead was a young girl, shorter by the height of a fashionable boot-heel, and with braided hair wound around her head, fastened by a broad bow of black ribbon. Her short, dark-blue skirt reached to her ankles and a Tam o' Shanter crowned her head.
Phil turned to his hostess. "What a strong family resemblance your youngest bears to Miss Fabian. I should know she was her sister if I met her anywhere."
"Yes, this is Kathleen, not Miss Fabian. Don't forget it. When you come back, I expect you to be treating each other as cousins should. Don't let her walk too far, Phil." Mrs. Fabian stifled a yawn. "I think I shall take a nap in the wind-break."
She watched the pair as they moved away from the house. The breeze was tossing the short dark hair on Phil's uncovered head. Kathleen, in her rubber-soled, heelless shoes, scarcely reached his ear.
"I'm glad now," mused Mrs. Fabian, "that Kathleen is a Van Ruysler iceberg. If she were a susceptible girl, I wouldn't wish her to be with that man a minute. What matter if he is a high-minded, fine chap? If he didn't care for her she'd suffer just the same." And Mrs. Fabian gave a yawn mightier than its predecessors and sought her favorite nook.
Meantime Eliza Brewster was making restless sallies from the kitchen to the front room and gazing over toward the boulder cottage. She felt sure Phil would inquire about her, and not let too much time pass before he ran across the field to Mrs. Wright's.
The dinner dishes were washed and cleared away and Eliza had on a clean gingham dress and white apron. Mrs. Wright saw her expectancy.