And then I felt myself grow pink.
“Children,” she said, after that, “I want you to come in and wait until I get on my hat, and then walk with me. Will you, or have you been walking and are you tired?”
I said we weren’t and that it would be fine, and Sam echoed it and Miss Sheila put in a quick, “Good!” and turned and hurried toward the building.
“Isn’t she beautiful, and lovely?” said Sam.
“Isn’t she?” I answered.
“By jings,” he went on, “I wish Mr. Wake would come meet her. . . . Why won’t he? He got all rattled the other day when Leslie asked him to call on Miss Sheila with her—said he couldn’t talk to women, all that sort of rot, and you know he’s always simply tip-top—wonder—”
“Look here, Sam,” I said, “I can’t tell you, but—”
And then Miss Sheila came back and put an end to my explaining nothing to Sam, and at the same time asking him not to press the matter of Mr. Wake’s meeting Miss Sheila.
She looked as pretty as I had ever seen her look. She had on a lavender voile dress that had frilly collars and cuffs on it and a broad low sash, and she had on her head a drooping hat of the most delicate pink shade with bunches of lilacs trailing from it, and the combination was beautiful.
“Ready,” she said with a smile, “and whither?”