"Bobs has been trying to get her to put on the brakes."
"Funny old Bobs! He's pippy on you, isn't he, Dee?"
"Me! I should say not. It's Mona."
"Can you blame him? With her war paint on she's got us both faded."
"Sometimes when I catch him looking at her with that poodle dog expression of his, I wonder whether there's something really wrong with her."
"Probably it's just the pace. What'll we be like at her age, if we last that long?" Constance's soft mouth hardened as she seated herself at the desk and scratched off the letter which she had been meditating. "There!" she observed at the close. "That will tell Mr. Warren Graves where he gets off."
"What about Pat? Someone ought to tell her where she gets off."
"I don't know why they keep her around anyway," said Constance discontentedly. "She ought to have been sent away to school last year."
"God help the school! She'll give it an education."
"Going to the club to-night?" asked the elder after a pause.