It was, of course, as she led the deplorable object towards the house that they encountered Eugenia under a green-lined white parasol, on the way back from the garden, carrying an armful of sweet-peas.
"I thought I'd fill the vases with fresh flowers before the rain came," she murmured, visibly sheering off from Paul.
"Eugenia ought not to carry sweet-peas," thought Marise. "It ought always to be orchids."
In the bath-room as she and Paul took off his oil-soaked clothes, Mark's little voice called to her, "Mother! Mo-o-other!"
"Yes, what is it?" she answered, suspending operations for a moment to hear.
"Mother, if I had to kill all the ants in the world," called Mark, "I'd a great deal rather they were all gathered up together in a heap than running around every-which-way, wouldn't you?"
"For goodness' sakes, what a silly baby thing to say!" commented Paul with energy.
Marise called heartily to Mark, "Yes indeed I would, dear."
Paul asked curiously, "Mother, how can you answer him like that, such a fool thing!"
Marise felt another wave of hysterical laughter mounting, at the idea of the difficulty in perceiving the difference in degree of flatness between Mark's remarks and those of Paul.