I take half a dozen hurried turns along the floor, and try to think of all our most depressing family themes—father; Algy's college-bills; Tou Tou's shrunk face and thin legs; nothing will do. When I stop before the glass and consult it, that hysterical smile is there still.
"Do you remember the day, when we were children, that we all went to the dentist?" says the Brat, chuckling, "and father gave Bobby a New Testament because he had his eye-tooth out? Does to-day at all remind you of it, Nancy?"
"I had far rather have both my eye-teeth out, and several of my double ones, too," reply I, sincerely.
A little pause.
"I must not keep him waiting any longer," cry I, desperately. "Tell me!" (appealing piteously to them all), "do I look all right? do I look pretty natural?"
"You do not look middle-aged enough," says Bobby, bluntly.
"Put on your bonnet," suggests Algy. "You look twenty years older in that, particularly when you cock it well over your nose, as you did last Sunday."
"You are all very unkind!" say I, in a whimpering voice, walking toward the door.
"And if he becomes too demonstrative," says the Brat, overtaking me with a rush before I reach it, "say—
'Unhand me, graybeard loon!'"