“Why should it? And”—Lynda came around the table and paused as she was about to go out of the room “I wonder if she could pass the coffee-urn test, on a pinch?”
Kendall coloured vividly. “I’ve been thinking more of my end of the table since I saw her than I ever have before in my life. It isn’t all coffee-urn, Lyn.”
“Indeed it isn’t! I must see this little womanly Lochinvar at once. Is she pretty—pretty as Mrs. John?”
“Why—I don’t know. I haven’t thought. She’s so different from—every one. She’s little but makes you think big. She’s always saying things you remember afterward, but she doesn’t talk much. She’s—she’s got light hair and blue eyes!” This triumphantly.
“And I hope she—dresses well?” This with a twinkle, for Kendall was keen about the details of a woman’s dress.
“She must, or I would have noticed.” Then, upon reflection, “or perhaps I wouldn’t.”
“Well, good-night, Brace, and—give Mrs. John my love. Poor dear! she came up to ask me yesterday if I could make a small room look spacious! You see, John likes to have everything cluttered—close to his touch. She wants him to have his way and at the same time she wants to breathe, too. Her West is in her blood.”
“What are you going to do about it, Lyn?” Kendall lighted a cigar and laughed.
“Oh, I managed to give a prairie-like suggestion of openness to her living-room plan and I told her to make John reach for a few things. It would do him good and save her soul alive.”
“And she—what did she say to that?”