Mrs. McVeigh entered the sitting room some time after and was astonished to find her still there and alone.
“Why, Judithe, I fancied you had gone to change your habit ages ago, and here you are, plunged in a brown study.”
“No––a blue and green one,” was the smiling response. “Have you ever observed what a paintable view there is from this point? It would be a gem on canvas; oh, for the talent of our Dumaresque!”
“Your Dumaresque,” corrected Mrs. McVeigh. “I never can forgive you, quite, for sending him away; oh, Helene wrote me all about it––and he was such a fine fellow.”
“Yes, he was,” and Judithe gave a little sigh ending in a smile; “but one can’t keep forever all the fine fellows one meets, and when they are so admirable in every way as Dumaresque, it seems selfish for one woman to capture them.”
Mrs. McVeigh shook her head hopelessly over such an argument, but broke a tiny spray of blossom from a plant and fastened it in the lapel of Judithe’s habit.
“It is not so gorgeous as the rose, but it is at least free from the pests.”
Judithe looked down at the blossom admiringly. “I trust Mr. Loring will forgive my panic––I fear it annoyed him.”
“Oh, no––not really. He is a trifle eccentric, but his invalidism gains him many excuses. There is no doubt but that you made a decided impression on him.”