Minnie greeted her with her very agreeable smile.
“Frankie, you look splendid!” she said warmly.
So she did. She had a new tweed suit and a quite plain hat, correct, well-chosen things that suited her tall strong figure and permitted attention to fly at once to her gay, brilliant face. Oh, there was some foundation for the Defoe pride! Minnie, in her mind, saluted her sister as a princess, the vindication of the family. She felt not the slightest envy; that was not one of her faults. Or was it that she was too well satisfied with her own quite different allure?
They drove through the Main Street again and past the up-to-date brick building, and, as she hoped, Frances asked her:
“How’s old Petersen these days?”
“All right,” Minnie answered, and was able to tell her several quite satisfactory things he had said on his last visit. He was a poor enough swain, but he was better than none, and the lovely Frankie had none! She listened with interest.
“I’m sure he means something!” she said.
Minnie admitted that she thought so too.
“But of course I don’t encourage him,” she said. “Imagine his even thinking of such a thing—a man of his class!”
“That’s all nonsense,” said Frances, bluntly. “I think he’s splendid. And he’s well read and intelligent—— If you like him——”