"Maud! Maud!"
Humming a bar of "La Boheme," Mrs. Jack regarded her companion through narrowed lids. "I believe, Edith, you keep up appearances with yourself. Why not be natural for a change? But, as you say, Elinor seems to have made a complete convalescence. Did you ever see a woman make such a projectile of herself? Positively hurls herself at Sinclair. But tell me more about the Carter man. How did he treat her rabies?"
"Cold-water cure. Turned her down—flat."
"So in revenge she's trying to besmirch the wife? The little devil! I call that pretty raw, Edith."
The other shrugged. "Oh, well, it is her pie, and if she prefers it uncooked it is none of our business. Better keep your fingers out of it, Maud. Struggle with your good intentions."
Mrs. Jack smiled sweetly. "My dear, am I in the habit of messing alien pies?"
"Not unless you covet the meat."
"Well, I'm not hankering after either Calvert or Carter hubby, though I must say that I like his specifications. Showed awfully good taste both in selecting his wife and rejecting Elinor. Fancy! a virtuous man—in this day!"
By this time Edith Newton was disposed in bed. A sleepy answer came from under the clothing. "Proves he hadn't the honor of your acquaintance."
"Nor yours," Mrs. Jack retorted.