“Don’t be absurd, Angela,” the girl laughed—freeing herself, “my things can wait—I may not unpack them at all.”
“Are you sure—sure they can wait?” Mrs. Hilary said lamely.
“Of course I am sure, you absurdity. Besides, tea must be ready in the drawing-room. Angela, Dr. Latham is here.”
Angela dimpled and flushed. “Oh! is he—is he really?”
Helen nodded.
Angela sat down and opened her vanity bag. She propped the mirror up on the table, shook out her powder puff, tried it on one cheek, refilled and applied it liberally, thinking, thinking, as she beautified. How could she get rid of Helen? She wanted to see Horace Latham, of course, but she had something much more important to attend to first. Latham could wait—for once in a way. As she piled on powder, and flicked it off, another idea came to her. She seized it. “You go along now, dear, and I’ll follow you.”
Helen shook her head. “You will stop prinking and come with me, now.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Hilary said reluctantly, letting Helen take her arm and lead her to the door. At the door she cried, “Oh! Oh!” pressed her hand to her side and staggered back to a chair. She did it beautifully. It scarcely could have been done better.
“What is it, Angela?” Helen was thoroughly alarmed.
“Oh! the whole room is swimming.”