"Well, Harry," said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way I shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter."
"Oh, no, mamma," replied Harry, looking slightly confused, "I did not mean that."
"Well, Harry," said Iola, amused, "go on with your description; I am becoming interested. Tax your powers of description to give me her likeness."
"Well, in the first place," continued Harry, "I suppose she is about twenty-five years old."
"Oh, the idea," interrupted Iola, "of a gentleman talking of a lady's age. That is a tabooed subject."
"Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. It is her combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my estimation."
"Pardon the interruption," said Iola; "I am anxious to hear more about her."
"Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. Neither hair nor complexion show the least hint of blood admixture."
"I am glad of it," said Iola. "Every person of unmixed blood who succeeds in any department of literature, art, or science is a living argument for the capability which is in the race."
"Yes," responded Harry, "for it is not the white blood which is on trial before the world. Well, I will bring her around this evening."