"I never knew it before," said Faith.
"How many hours does she need for a morning toilette?" said he, pursuing his researches.
"Hours!" said Mrs. Derrick—"you'd better say minutes. It's less than an hour, commonly."
"But I mean uncommonly."
Mrs. Derrick looked thoroughly puzzled. But Faith had got the key, and hopeless of stopping Mr. Linden she thought the next best thing was to expedite matters.
"When I take longest, mother,"—she suggested in a low voice.
"How long would she need to arrange orange flowers to her satisfaction—" said Mr. Linden,—"or white muslin?"
"O!—" said Mrs. Derrick setting down the teapot with her cup half filled. "I didn't know what you were talking about."
"I am talking about next Thursday," said Mr. Linden, with a gay gentleness of manner. "Because we have decided—or I have—that Thursday is to be the prettiest day of the week, and now we want to choose the prettiest time of day."
A little flush came into Mrs. Derrick's quiet face,—she said not a word.