“I can't let you slander St. Barnaby in that way,” said Beaton, with the air of wishing to be understood as meaning more than he said.
“Yes?” returned Alma, coolly. “I didn't know you were so fond of the climate.”
“I never think of it as a climate. It's a landscape. It doesn't matter whether it's hot or cold.”
“With the thermometer twenty below, you'd find that it mattered,” Alma persisted.
“Is that the way you feel about St. Barnaby, too, Mrs. Leighton?” Beaton asked, with affected desolation.
“I shall be glad enough to go back in the summer,” Mrs. Leighton conceded.
“And I should be glad to go now,” said Beaton, looking at Alma. He had the dummy of 'Every Other Week' in his hand, and he saw Alma's eyes wandering toward it whenever he glanced at her. “I should be glad to go anywhere to get out of a job I've undertaken,” he continued, to Mrs. Leighton. “They're going to start some sort of a new illustrated magazine, and they've got me in for their art department. I'm not fit for it; I'd like to run away. Don't you want to advise me a little, Mrs. Leighton? You know how much I value your taste, and I'd like to have you look at the design for the cover of the first number: they're going to have a different one for every number. I don't know whether you'll agree with me, but I think this is rather nice.”
He faced the dummy round, and then laid it on the table before Mrs. Leighton, pushing some of her work aside to make room for it and standing over her while she bent forward to look at it.
Alma kept her place, away from the table.
“Mah goodness! Ho' exciting!” said Miss Woodburn. “May anybody look?”