“That’s the time you beat him to it,” chuckled Walter. “Do they do this sort of thing out your way?” and he addressed pretty Eline.
She blushed a charming pink under her coat of tan–a real biscuit brown, it had been voted by her admirers. She reminded them of a little red squirrel, for she had rather that same timid appearance, and she nearly always dressed in tan or brown, to match her complexion.
“Sometimes,” she murmured.
“Chicago—” began Jack in rather judicial tones.
“You let Chicago alone!” advised Walter. “I’m looking after Eline. I won’t let them hurt you,” and he moved closer to her. She seemed to shrink, whereat the others laughed.
They walked about for a little while, strolling out to the Kimball garage–a rebuilt stable, where three fine machines now stood, two of them having brought the visitors. Then when they had acquired the necessary breath of air, they went back into the house.
Eline matched herself up to a Chippendale chair, while Belle, always fond of plenty of room, found it on a divan. Bess had secured one of those Roman chairs curved up at both ends, seemingly intended to prevent anyone from sitting anywhere but in the exact center. She assumed a graceful pose–everything Bess did had that attribute.
“My! it is certainly getting warmer!” complained Walter. “Maybe we should have stayed out.”
“We can talk better in here,” was Cora’s opinion. “We’ll need all the breeze that we can get on high gear if this keeps up,” said Ed, with a sigh.
“Oh, but the dust!” exclaimed Bess. “I know I’ll simply choke, and—”