“So you think your mother would look well in something like that?” he said gravely.
His face was turned to his wife.
“I should like to see her in it,” said the girl wistfully. “I never thought before how beautiful mother is! She’s always been—just mother!... I think she’s growing pretty,” she added reflectively. She was gazing at her with puzzled eyes.
“Go on—tell about the coat!” said Eleanor.
“Why—that’s all! I only saw it as she threw it off—and when we came out, it lay there across a chair and Harold said, ’What a stunning thing!’ and I said, ’Yes—for mother!’.rdquo; She laughed and Eleanor smiled faintly.
“And then what did he say?”
The girl hesitated a minute.
“You are growing pretty, you know!” she replied irrelevantly. “And you’re almost the only woman I know that has wrinkles—nice ones!”
“Silly child!” said Eleanor. But her face flushed a little.
Annabel nodded. “I’ve been puzzling about it—about faces—lots of those suffrage women—I didn’t know what it was—I couldn’t make out! But that’s it—they haven’t any wrinkles!” She said it triumphantly.