"How can I, when I can't bear the sight of anything but fruit?"
"You don't get out enough."
"I suppose I don't. There's nothing to take me out."
Mr. Townsend turned away. As he passed through the door, he met his daughter Olive, and greeted her.
This very pretty, dark-skinned, dark-eyed girl of eighteen evidently had been keeping late hours on the previous evening. Her long lashes drooped sleepily over her eyes as she nodded to her brother.
"Grapefruit any good?" she asked.
"Fair, if it wasn't sweetened like a bonbon."
"I like mine sweet. Annie, tell Gretchen to put half a dozen maraschino cherries in my grapefruit and some crushed ice."
"You must like the mess that will be," Murray observed.
"I do--very much," replied his sister, decidedly.