“It was most kind of you to send them. I’m going to a case to-morrow, but I shall hope to see you when I come back.”
“Sister North sported a swell new blouse” said Miss Dear in clear intimate tones as she paused in the hall to take up her umbrella.
“I hope it won’t rain,” said Miriam formally, opening the front door.
“She was no end of a swell” pursued Miss Dear, hitching her cloak and skirt from her heels with a neat cuffed gloved hand, quirked compactly against her person just under her waist and turned so that her elbow and forearm made a small compact angle against her person. She spoke over her shoulder, her form slenderly poised forward to descend the steps; “I told her she would knock them.” She was aglow with the afternoon sunlight streaming down the street.
Miriam spoke as she stepped down with delicate plunges. She did not hear and paused turning on the last step.
“It was too bad of you” shouted Miriam smiling “to leave my sister alone at the Decayed Gentlewomen’s.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” gleamed Miss Dear. “My time was up.”
“Did you hate being there?”
Miss Dear hung, poised and swaying to some inner breeze. Miriam gazed, waiting for her words, watching the in-turned eyes control the sweet lips flowering for speech.
“It was rather comical”—the eyes came round, clear pure blue;—“until your sister came.” The tall slender figure faced the length of the street; the long thin blue cloak flickering all over gave Miriam a foresight of the coming swift hesitating conversational progress of the figure along the pavement, the poise of the delicate surmounting head, slightly bent, the pure brow foremost, shading the lowered thoughtful eyes, the clear little rounded dip of the chin indrawn.