“You are treating me like a spoiled child,” declared Miss Ennis, stamping a period to the charge with her high French heel.
“Precisely.”
She marched out of the room, and, with the physician, joined the rest of the company. For the remainder of the evening she spoke little to any one and not at all to Dr. Strong. But when she came to say good-night he was standing apart. He held out his hand, which she could not well avoid seeing.
“When you get up to-morrow,” he said, “look in the mirror, [she winced] and say, ‘I can be beautiful if I want to hard enough.’ Good-bye.”
Luncheon at the Clydes’ next day was given up to a family discussion of Miss Louise Ennis, precipitated by Mr. Clyde, who rallied Dr. Strong on his newest departure.
“Turned beauty doctor, have you?” he taunted good-humoredly.
“Trainer, rather,” answered Dr. Strong.
“You might be in better business,” declared Mrs. Sharpless, with her customary frankness. “Beauty is only skin-deep.”
“Grandma Sharpless’s quotations,” remarked Dr. Strong to the saltcellar, “are almost as sure to be wrong as her observations are to be right.”
“It was a wiser man than you or I who spoke that truth about beauty.”