"Oh," said Desire. "And what does this futurist lady look like?"
Benis considered. "I can't think of anything that she looks like," he concluded. "She doesn't go in for resemblances. Futurists don't, you know!"
"Isn't it odd?" said Desire in what she hoped was a casual voice. "So many of your friends seem to be named Mary."
"I've noticed that myself—lately."
"There are—"
"'Mary Seaton and Mary Beaton and Mary Carmichael and me,'" quoted Benis gravely.
Desire permitted herself to smile and turning, still smiling, faced Aunt Caroline; who, for her part, was in anything but a smiling humor.
"I'm glad you take it good-naturedly, Desire," said Aunt Caroline acidly. "But people who arrive at a moment's warning always annoy me. I do not require much, but a few days' notice at the least—have you seen a photograph anywhere about?"
Desire bit her lips. "Whose photograph was it, Aunt?"
"Why, Mary Davis' photograph, of course. The one she gave to Benis when she was last here. I hope you do not mind my taking it from your room, Benis? My intention was to have it framed. People do like to see themselves framed. I thought it might be a delicate little attention. But if she is coming tonight, it is too late now. Still, we might put it in place of Cousin Amelia Spence on the drawing-room mantel. What do you think, my dear?"