“Not a bit. You don’t know Tom; he just laughed as if it was funny. Luckily, I had given him a silk umbrella for his birthday, and as he has two already, and this one is—er rather small, I shall get a good deal of use out of it myself.”
“And you hadn’t one at all, had you?” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I remember the day you lost yours.”
“Yes. Wasn’t it nice of me to buy one for him when I really needed it for myself? But one can’t expect a man to appreciate generosity.”
“Oh, girls,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “what do you think I heard to-day?”
“I don’t know what you heard,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “but I heard that Clarence Lighthed has just inherited a fortune from an uncle whom he had never seen! You know he is my cousin, and—”
“Have you just heard that,” said the blue-eyed girl, “He told me about it a week ago—the day you said he was stupid, Emily. I knew at the time that you would feel badly when you discovered that it was only—er—grief for the death of his uncle, which made him so quiet and thoughtful. Poor fellow, it must have been such a shock to him!”
“How kind of you to comfort him in his sorrow,” said the brown-eyed blonde, in sarcastic tones.
“Yes, dear—especially as he could have his choice of comforters. I think you said that you, too, have a piece of news, Emily.”
“Why—er—yes, I heard that Effie Bittersweet is on the verge of nervous prostration.”
The blue-eyed girl said never a word; she looked out of the window opposite her, and there was a soft, sweet smile on her face. Perhaps she failed to see the glances that were exchanged by the others.