"Then—Margery's engagement ring was stolen last night and when I commiserated her she said—dear me, the lamp's out and the coffee is cold!"
"Remarkable speech, under the circumstances," said Fred.
Edith rang the bell and seemed to be thinking. "Perhaps we'd better make it four small rugs instead of one large one," she said.
"Not a rug until you have told me what Margery said," firmly.
"Oh, that! Why, she said it really didn't matter about the ring. She had never cared much about it anyway."
"But that's only a matter of taste," I protested, somewhat disappointed. But Edith got up and patted me on the top of my head.
"Silly," she said. "If the right man came along and gave her a rubber teething ring, she'd be crazy about it for his sake."
"Edith!" Fred said, shocked. But Edith had gone.
She took me up-stairs before I left for the office to measure for the Shirvan, Edith being a person who believes in obtaining a thing while the desire for it is in its first bloom. Across the hall Fred was talking to Margery through the transom.
"Mustard leaves are mighty helpful," he was saying. "I always take 'em on shipboard. And cheer up: land's in sight."