“And is becoming,” finished the girl calmly. Then she added: “What would you have me wear? It would be neither suited to you nor to the glorious summer season to wear drab.”
“Pink?” suggested her aunt.
“Oh, Auntie, with my hair!”
Mrs. Weston almost smiled.
“Yellow?” she continued.
“Too vivid,” objected Meg.
“Then blue,” said her aunt hesitatingly.
“That’s your color,” replied Meg, with laughing eyes, “and as it wouldn’t become me so well, I wouldn’t think of wearing it.”
Mrs. Weston’s smile deepened, spread all over her face, into the creases she still fondly believed to be dimples, and diplomatic relations were established.
Meg picked up the morning paper, and propping it against the coffee-pot, began scanning the head-lines of the first page. “I declare,” her aunt commented, “you are as bad as a man about reading at the breakfast-table.”