"Ernestine?"—after a little pause.
"Yes?"
"You and I are hanging right over the ragged edge of thirty."
"Horrors!—Georgia; is this your idea of furnishing pleasant entertainment for a guest?"
"But I was just thinking how many things have happened to us since we were twenty-two."
"I was thinking of that a minute ago myself."
"To you, especially. Now, I never supposed when we were in college that you were going to marry Karl Hubers."
"No," laughed Ernestine, "neither did I."
"I mean I never associated you two with one another. And now I can't think of you separately. And then your father and mother, and then Karl losing—heavens, but I'm cheerful! Now, isn't it just like me," she demanded, angrily, "to act like a fool just because I'm going to be married? If I keep on I'll find myself weeping because Socrates is dead. And I never do weep, either. I tell you that Joe Tank's a terrible man," she laughed, brushing away some tears.
"I don't think you're going to have much to weep about, Georgia. I know you're going to be happy."