“He wanted you to recommend it to your friends, I’ve no doubt,” remarked Mollie.
“He didn’t say so, but I haven’t any hesitation in doing so. I just love it.”
“It is nice,” said Amy. “I’m going to get some the next time I go down-town.”
The spicy scent of the perfumed talcum powder mingled with the odor of the grass, the trees, and the flowers, over which the bees were humming.
“Come, come, Betty!” exclaimed Mollie, vigorously, when shining noses had been rendered immune from the effects of the sun, “when do we hear that wonderful secret of yours?”
“Right away! Make yourselves comfortable. I’m going to walk about, and get the proper action to go with the words. Now, what did I do with that letter?” and she looked in her belt, up her sleeve, and in the folds of her waist.
“Gracious, I hope I haven’t lost it!” she exclaimed, glancing about, anxiously.
“Was it only a letter?” asked Mollie, something of disappointment manifesting itself in her tones.
“Only a letter!” repeated Betty, with proper emphasis. “Well, I like the way you say that! It isn’t a common letter, by any means.”
“Is it from that queer Mr. Blackford, whose five hundred dollar bill we found when we were on our walking trip?” asked Amy, with strange recollections of that queer occurrence.