"Miss Becker," he said, by way of greeting, nodding and showing his teeth.
Her heart became a little elevator dropping in sheer descent.
"Oh—how—do—you—do?" They were pushed shoulder to shoulder, and, to
Lilly's agony, her mother's voice lifted itself in loud concern.
"For pity's sake, look at that downpour, will you? I hope your father has the good sense to wear his rubbers. Ouch! Don't knock me down, please."
"Mamma—please. Mr. Lindsley, I want you to meet my mother."
"Pleased to meet you. Lilly certainly has talked of her English teacher a lot."
"She is a very interesting little student, Mrs. Becker. Quite a quality to her work."
"Well, I am certainly pleased to hear that. She's our only one, you know."
"Lilly has a tendency to let her imagination run away with her. A good fault if she controls it."
"That's what her father and I always tell her. The child has too many talents to settle down to any one. She gets her music from my side of the house, but she quits practicing to write and she quits writing to practice. It's not that we want our little girl ever to make her own living, but her father and I believe in a girl being prepared, even if she never has to use it. That's why we are having her take the commercial course. We don't pretend to be swells, but at least we plan to do as well for our child as the next."