"Humph," murmured Flossie. "Stuck-up show-girl."
"Where's Pinkie?" inquired Mrs. Anderson, entering to light the gas. "Hasn't she returned yet?"
"Has Pinkie gone out?" inquired Flossie, munching a caramel.
"Yes. She drove off in a taxicab with some man half an hour ago. I thought he was a friend of yours."
"Pinkie drove off in a taxicab with a man?" Flossie fairly shrieked in amazement. "Will wonders never cease?"
"I couldn't see who it was," explained Aunt Jane, as the door-bell announced another visitor. "But I know it was a man."
"D'je ever hear the like of that?" Flossie shook her head wonderingly. "Seems to me I'm getting the double cross."
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Lawrence," cried Mrs. Anderson, in the hallway, ushering in a distinguished-looking individual with crisp, curly, dark hair, a smoothly shaven face, an elegant bearing and a far-away look in his flashing, dark eyes. "I'm so glad to welcome you home again—for you know I like to feel that all my guests are, after all, members of a happy little family."
"And glad I am to be back in your hospitable house," responded Lawrence. "What's this I see? My photograph?" he added, beaming with delight and gazing admiringly at the large photo on the piano.
"If we cannot have you, Mr. Lawrence," declared Mrs. Anderson, feelingly, "it pleases us to always have your photograph before us."