Grace Langham turned, with a woman's instinct.
Vesty, standing there, dim and tall, in her laceless, fashionless gown, met her glance with a long, serious look that contained nothing either of alarm or suspicion.
"I know," murmured Grace. "I've heard the name of 'Vesty'—that is Vesty."
"That is Vesty," said her companion.
"And you love her, I believe," said Grace Langham to her own breast, but sighed aloud; a gentle, bewitching sigh that divined deeper of Notely's mood than further laughter would have done then.
As they passed out of sight, riches and gay things and the last light of day seemed to go with them.
The mirth the children were having, congratulating Dr. Spearmint on his engagement, sounded crude.
"Nature has done so much for me, you know," he said, with his weak, throbbing vanity, his hand nervously on the blue tie.
Vesty went over to him and put both hands on his head.
The children hushed.