The woman sat up and wiped her eyes. The little hysterical outburst evidently relieved her; she smiled, though her lips still trembled. "I was tellin' my fortune to see what kind of a letter I'd git to-morrow mornin' from my friend about goin' to the movies. I like 'em, but 'pears he ain't stuck on 'em. An'—an', I'm bettin' he'll say he won't go. The cards make out I ain't goin' to have no luck."
"Nonsense! You've got too much sense to believe in cards."
"Miss Freddy, Mr. Maitland'll think the house real pretty the way you fixed up them leaves. Some of 'em is as handsome as if they was hand-painted!"
Fred preserved a grave face, and said yes, the leaves were lovely.
"An' he's comin' out to-morrow night?" Flora said, nodding her head. "Well, I guess you're happy." Her opaque black eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Frederica, rising, put an impulsive arm around her; Flora suddenly sobbed on her shoulder.
"Is it because your beau has been unkind?" Fred said. She used Flora's own vernacular.
"I 'ain't never had a real beau. Oh, well, I don't care! I'm glad you got a beau, anyhow."
"I don't know that I have," Fred said, smiling. "But you'll get one some day." Under her friendly words was a good-natured contempt—Flora was so anxious for a "beau"!
"An' your gentleman'll come out here to-morrow night," Flora repeated,—it was as if she turned the knife in her own wound; "an' you and him'll set in the living-room. And you'll talk. And he'll talk. An' he'll ... kiss you."
"Oh," Fred said, laughing, "Mr. Maitland and I are not interested in that kind of thing! We are trying to give women the vote, and to make the world better—that's what we are going to talk about. And, Flora, remember, you've got to give us an awfully good supper! Come, now! you're tired. You really must go to bed."