“It’s a silly face.”
“It is a face full of character.”
“Oh, come now, Elinor! It would pass for a portrait of the full moon.”
“Well, the full moon has character. And I love those big merry eyes with the funny little melancholy kind of droop at the outer corners. Poor thing! She must have had a sad life out here in the wilderness.”
“Thank you.”
As their eyes met he frowned again, and she, for the third time, extended the hand. “A sad life, because she had no Pats.”
But he refused the hand. “That is very clever, but too late. The stab had already reached home.”
She smiled and began to fold her napkin.
“To return to business, Miss Marshall, of Boston, the provisions are so low that we really must decide on something.”
“How long will they last?”