DOROTHY WEST AT HOME
"Mother mine," cried Dorothy West, as she withdrew the pins from her hat, "John Dene's a dear, and I think his passion for me is developing."
"Dorothy!" cried Mrs. West, a tiny white-haired lady whose face still retained traces of youthful beauty.
"You needn't be shocked, lovie; John Dene is as worthy as his namesake in Evangeline." She laughed lightly. "Now I must eat. John Dene's like sea air, he's so stimulating;" and she began to eat the dinner that Mrs. West always prepared with such care.
For some minutes she watched with a smile of approval her daughter's healthy appetite.
"I think I should like Mr. Dene, Dorothy," she said at length. "I have always heard that Canadians are very nice to women. You must ask him to call."
"Oh, you funny little mother!" she laughed. "You forget that we have come down in the world, and that I'm a typist."
"A secretary, dear," corrected Mrs. West gently.
"Well, secretary, then; but even a secretary doesn't invite her employer to tea, even when the tea is as mother makes it. It's not done, so the less that's said of John, I think, the better," she quoted gaily. "Oh! by the way," she added, "you might get his goat; Sir Lyster does."
"His goat, dear!" Mrs. West looked up with a puzzled expression.