“Like the measles!” said William Archer.
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Something like that—you don’t have it, and you feel well—perfectly well—and then you talk with some one, or have tea or something, and you get all excited and uncomfortable——”
“And break out—” said William Archer.
“Yes—and see your mother walking in the middle of the street—ploughing along!” Her indignant glance was on Eleanor’s calm face. “I felt just ashamed!” she declared.
“I thought mother walked rather well!” said Richard.
“Yes—I was quite proud of mother!” said William Archer.
“Well—I hope it’s the last time you’ll have a chance to ’be proud of mother’—that way!... I never dreamed she would do it!—What made you?” she asked. She turned an accusing look on her.
“Why—I think I—caught it, perhaps,” said Eleanor. “Isn’t your hat just a little far forward, dear?”
Annabel jumped up and went to the glass and adjusted the hat with conscientious touch. “It looks so simple!” she murmured. “But it really takes brains!—There—how is that?” She turned for approval, with serious, intent look.
“Just like a French cadet!” said William Archer. He had finished luncheon, and was standing in the doorway looking back.