Miss Virginia Lancaster looked a little chilly; her eyes, always weak, were watery now from the sharp evening air, and her long nose red at the tip. She wore neat, plain clothes, and a small hat, and laid black lisle gloves and a small black book beside her plate as she sat down.
"Good evening, everybody!" said she, pleasantly. "Late comers mustn't complain, Ma, dear. I met Mrs. Curry, poor thing, coming out of the League rooms, and time flew, as time has a way of doing! She was telling me about Harry," Miss Virginia sighed, peppering her soup slowly. "He knew he was going," she resumed, "and he left all his little things--"
"Gracious! A child of seven?" Mrs. Parker said.
"Oh, yes! She said there was no doubt of it."
The conversation turned upon death, and the last acts of the dying. Loretta Parker related the death of a young saint. Miss Lord, pouring a little lime water into most of her food, chewed religiously, her eyes moving from one speaker's face to another.
"I saw my pearl to-day," said William Oliver to Susan, under cover of the general conversation.
"Eleanor Harkness? Where?"
"On Market Street,--the little darling! Walking with Anna Carroll. Going to the boat."
"Oh, and how's Anna?"
"Fine, I guess. I only spoke to them for a minute. I wish you could have seen her dear little laugh--"