CHAPTER TWELVE
Some mornings after Alice's arrival—she had spent most of the hours in her room in the interim—she came gaily into the room where her husband and Margaret were at breakfast, her face all smiles, her figure clothed in a jaunty walking dress which fitted her to perfection. Thayor looked up from his coffee and bacon; he thought he had never seen her look so pretty.
"Why, Alice!" he exclaimed, all his love for her in his eyes.
"Yes—I don't wonder you are astonished," she said, regarding them both mischievously. "The day is too glorious to breakfast in bed; besides, I've slept like a top. Sam, the camp is exceedingly pretty," she went on, as Blakeman ceremoniously pushed a chair beneath her and hurriedly laid the unexpected cover.
"And now may I ask where you two gad-abouts are going?" she inquired, noticing Margaret's short skirt and Sam in a pair of stout tramping boots.
"To a pond, mother—the nearest, I believe. Think of it—we have four of them," announced Margaret proudly.
"Then I'm going too," declared her mother.
"Good!" cried Thayor. "Holcomb says he can easily take us there and back in time for luncheon."
Alice turned to her husband, and patting the back of his hand, said:
"Sam, you'll forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm since I came, won't you? I was really ill; the heat was something frightful coming up." The tone of her voice was captivating.