“She looks like Columbia, the gem of the ocean!”
Decidedly, Dan Pritchard was not in humorous mood; nevertheless he burbled and churned inwardly for several seconds before conquering an impulse to burst into maniac laughter. He realized in time, fortunately, that he could not possibly afford to laugh at his housekeeper. The good soul was arrayed in a black crêpe de Chine gown, trimmed with lace—a voluminous and extremely frippery garment; standing there, her cold countenance handsome with a classic handsomeness beneath a pile of silvery hair, she did indeed offer a splendid comparison with the popular conception of Columbia.
“Pardon me, Mr. Pritchard,” said Mrs. Pippy frigidly, “did I understand you to say that Miss Larrieau comes from eastern Polynesia?”
“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Pippy. She arrived from there today.”
“For a moment I was inclined to think you had been misinformed and that the young lady hails from the region known as ‘south of Market Street.’”
“That one went over Tamea’s head,” Dan thought. “It was meant for me. Well, it landed.”
He smiled upon his housekeeper.
“We will, if you please, Mrs. Pippy, call that round a draw. Miss Larrieau is my ward. I acquired her about two hours ago and it is my firm intention to do as well by her as possible. To that end I crave your indulgence and hearty coöperation, Mrs. Pippy.”
The housekeeper thawed perceptibly. “I shall be most happy to aid you in making Miss Larrieau as comfortable and happy as possible.”
“That’s perfectly splendid of you, Mrs. Pippy. Tamea, my dear, will you step into the living room and play your accordion, or do something to amuse yourself, while Mrs. Pippy and I hold a conference?”