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She dropped onto the side of the bed, watching her sister, with her head tilted, her eye dreamily ruminant. "What's the matter, dear?" said Lorry. "Why aren't you in bed?" Chrystie yawned. "I can't possibly imagine except that I don't want to be there," came through the yawn. "Aren't you sleepy?" "In a sort of way." She yawned again and stretched with a wide spread of arms.
"What reason had you for thinking such a thing?" She made a step forward, ignoring the question. "She isn't here I can see that but where is she?" "How should I know?" "Because you must know something about her, because you do know. Chrystie of herself wouldn't tell me lies; someone's made her do it, you've made her do it." "Really, Miss Alston " But she wouldn't give him time to finish. "Mr.
"But somebody did go there," came from Aunt Ellen with a knowing nod. They laughed at that, even Mr. Mayer, who appeared only languidly interested, his eyes on the film of wine in the bottom of his glass. "Who do you suppose it could have been?" asked Chrystie. "A duck shooter, probably." This was Mr. Mayer's first contribution to the subject.
Aunt Ellen kept following the strange waiters with suspicious eyes, then looking down the glittering table at Lorry like a worried dog. And Chrystie, who had been all blithe expectation up to the time she dressed, was suddenly shattered by nervousness, making detached, breathless remarks about the weather and then drinking copious draughts of water.
Fong had carried away only the richest and costliest evening dresses, lace petticoats, opera wraps, furs, high-heeled slippers, nothing that could be worn as life was now. "We'll have to go about in ball dresses for the rest of the summer," said Chrystie, giggling hysterically. "How nice you'll look weeding the garden in an ermine stole and white satin slippers."
On the Monday morning he rose feeling more confident, lighter in heart, than he had done since he met Burrage. It had been a relief to put an end to the Sacramento business; Chrystie had been amenable to his suggestion; the weather was fine; his affairs were moving smoothly to their climax. As he dressed he expanded his chest with calisthenic exercises and even warbled a little French song.
You might have asked me forty others and I'd not have known. But thanks to your vivid description I can tell you I saw her yesterday afternoon in those very togs. It's the youngest Alston girl." "Who's she?" "One of the two daughters of George Alston. They're orphans, live in a big house on Pine Street. The one you saw was Chrystie. What do you want to know about her?"
Because I feel I've been with someone who's so much finer than all the others. Not the pert, smart girl of dinners and dances, but someone genuine and sincere and sweet" his glance touched the bunch of violets "as sweet as those violets you're wearing." Chrystie experienced a feeling of astonishment, mixed with an uplifting exaltation.
Aunt Ellen took the opportunity of slipping through a side door that led to the hall, and Chrystie and her lover faced each other among the empty chairs. With his eye on the receding backs of the other couple, Mayer said, hardly moving his lips: "When can I see you again? Tomorrow at the Greek Church at four?" She demurred as she constantly did.
But Chrystie would be back before then she might be there even now. Her rapid walk broke into a run and presently she was flying past the garden fence, sending her glance ahead under the trees. No Aunt Ellen was alone, looking as if she was participating in a solitary picnic. In front of her stood a small table covered with a white cloth and set with glass and silver.
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