"I thought you looked pale," said Mrs. Ames, viewing him through the inevitable lorgnon. "Go on, tell me all about it."
"I'm afraid the details are too harrowing," said Horace mildly. "The body of the gown—isn't that what you call it—? the ground‑work, you know—"
"Yes—yes, that's all right," nodded Mrs. Ames. "Go on—the body of the gown—"
"Is of a sort of sickly, mustard‑colored satin with chocolate‑colored trimmings, and wreaths of pink stuff and coral ornaments that look like lobster‑claws. Really, it gives you quite a turn just to see it; and then, she has some kind of a grass‑green weeping‑willow tree that she is going to wear in her hair. Really, the whole thing is pretty shuddery. Haunts you, you can't throw it off." Penfield looked a trifle blue about the mouth and so depressed that Hayden could not help laughing.
"Edith is going beyond herself," commented Mrs. Ames. "Some one ought to marry her and reform her. Why not you, Horace?"
"'She killed a boy, she killed a man, why should she not kill me?'" quoted Horace gloomily.
"Well, we'll have some luncheon and then you'll feel better," consoled his hostess. "Here come the girls now."
Master of facial expression as he was, Horace could no more have helped his jaw dropping than he could his eyes blinking as Marcia and the Mariposa, followed by Wilfred Ames, came toward them. Hayden was particularly struck by the fact that as the two girls walked down the room laughing and talking, there was no suggestion in the manner of either of their being strangers or even formal acquaintances. There was the easy manner of old friendship between them, and he recalled again the "Ydo" that Marcia had inadvertently spoken that day in the Park, and pondered afresh.
Marcia looked to Hayden's eyes more charming than ever. The slightly strained expression about the mouth and eyes, which always caused him a pang, was to‑day quite effaced, and his heart throbbed with pleasure as he caught the dear little smile that she gave him, and he saw that her eyes were full of a soft and radiant happiness. She wore a white cloth own, with an immense black hat, the butterflies and her beloved California violets, a dewy and deliciously fragrant cluster which Hayden had sent to her that morning. Ydo in rose color was a brilliant and effective contrast to her.
"'As moonlight unto sunlight
And as water unto wine,'"