"Stay and have supper with us, Jinny. John Henry will take you home afterward."
"I can't, dear. The—the servants are expecting me."
She kissed Susan on the cheek, and taking up her little black silk bag, turned to the door.
"Jinny, if I come by for you to-morrow, will you go with me to a board meeting or two? Couldn't you possibly take an interest in some charity?" It was a desperate move, but at the moment she could think of no other to make.
"Oh, I am interested, Susan—but I have no executive ability, you know. And—and, then, poor dear father used to have such a horror of women who were always running about to meetings. He would never even let mother do church work—except, of course, when there was a cake sale or a fair of the missionary society."
Susan's last effort had failed, and as she followed Virginia downstairs and to the front door, a look almost of gloom settled on her large cheerful face.
"Try to pay some calls every afternoon, won't you, dear?" she said at the door. "I'll come in to see you in the morning when we get back from marketing."
Then she added softly, "If you are ever lonesome and want me, telephone for me day or night. There's nothing on earth I wouldn't do for you, Jinny."
Virginia's eyes were wonderful with love and gratitude as they shone on her through the twilight. "We've been friends since we were two years old, Susan, and, do you know, there is nobody in the world that I would ask anything of as soon as I would of you."
A look of unutterable understanding and fidelity passed between them; then turning silently away, Virginia descended the steps and walked quickly along the path to the pavement, while Susan, after watching her through the gate, shut the door and went upstairs to the nursery.