“Rather catty, I call that,” said Elizabeth, when their charming visitor was well out of ear shot. “What do you think she meant by suggesting such a horrid thing, Josie?”
Josie, who had lost her strange stupid look, laughed gaily at Elizabeth’s question. “She didn’t mean anything at all, Elizabeth. She was put out because the nice, big boy didn’t pay her any attention. He was either talking business and books with you and me or he was leaning over Irene there making engagements. The beautiful Mrs. Markle must be the center of attraction or she won’t play.”
“Oh!” and Irene blushed rosy red. This was indeed being like other girls if somebody was jealous of her. “I can’t help thinking she had some other motive,” Irene whispered to Josie, when Elizabeth went back to her noisy copying of the flamboyant story. “Of course, if such a charmer as Mrs. Markle wanted the attentions of a young man she could have them without lifting an eyelash.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” insisted Josie. “Some men don’t fall for so much beauty of face. They are on the lookout for beauty of soul. Wonderful damask napkins she left! Did you look at the embroidered initials? I hope I won’t scorch them. There is no telling what they are worth. Each one is big enough for a tablecloth.”
“They are wonderful,” said Irene. “I never heard of anyone’s having napkins laundered before the initials were embroidered, but it no doubt is a good thing. Mrs. Markle certainly knows all about it. I have never imagined such perfect work.” She sighed and dropped the lace she was mending for a moment and picked up one of the napkins the closer to scrutinize the regular stitches. Her magnifying glass was in her lap and she gazed at the work through it.
“Why, Josie, come here!” she cried in some excitement. “This napkin has had a piece cut out and a patch put in—one of Mrs. Markle’s incomparable patches, but a patch for all that.”
“See if this one has too,” asked Josie, trying not to show the excitement that she too felt.
“Yes, this one and this one and this one—all of them!” exclaimed Irene in a puzzled tone. “Look, she has matched each thread and then made an initial large enough to cover the patch almost entirely. I never saw such clever work in my life—but why?”
“Perhaps she did not like the initial she first put there and cut it out to put another,” suggested Josie, a twinkle asserting itself in her eyes that she seemed to be trying to make opaque.
“The patches are not all the same size,” declared Irene, picking up napkin after napkin and examining them carefully through her glass. “What can it mean, Josie?”